


Heart Infection

by spaceOdementia



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternative Prompt, Burgeoning affection, Cloud POV, Cloud is a bumbling idiot, Cloud is a gentleman, Cloud is athletic too, Cloud learns how to use his words, College Life, Day Four Prompt, Developing Relationship, Endless Summer 2020, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Caddyshack quote, Language, Minimal angst with a happy ending, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Romance, SO MUCH FLUFF, Soccer, Tifa is a hot commodity, Tifa is athletic, Tifa is perfect, Tifa's got game, childhood traumas, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:41:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25250302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceOdementia/pseuds/spaceOdementia
Summary: Be the ball. It had sounded inspired in their apartment kitchen. It was motivating. It was intriguing. Cloud just hadn't expected it to become so...literal.
Relationships: Mentions of Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough, Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 110
Kudos: 176





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is (one of?) my submissions for Endless Summer 2020 Week! Inspired by the Day Four alternative prompt quote: "There's a force in the universe that makes things happen. And all you have to do is get in touch with it, stop thinking, let things happen, and be the ball." (Caddyshack, 1980) I'm early for it, but I couldn't resist. Since I've finished it, I'll post a new chapter every day.
> 
> Happy reading, everyone! I hope you enjoy this! As always, all comments, ideas, love, hate are welcome and adored and everything I ever want. 
> 
> Stay safe and healthy!

Be the ball.

That’s what Zack tells him. _Be the ball._

Cloud doesn’t listen to Zack often. Usually, it’s in one ear and out the other. Zack’s advice tends to be as wise as a bucket of worms in a snowstorm—useless and unhelpful.

But, surprisingly, Zack has been in a relationship with Aerith for a much longer time than Cloud had predicted. It had been a rocky start, without a doubt—Zack is a flirt by design, and flirting with every female who breathed in his vicinity wasn’t a trait that women tended to adore—yet, somehow, he had reeled Aerith in and has kept her happy enough to stick around.

So, when Zack says, “Be the ball, Cloud. That’s what I did, and the weird thing is I think I’m in love.” Cloud knows instantly that he needs to pay attention.

The admittance is very uncharacteristic and, to be fair, out of left field. Zack’s never been in love in his life. He loves love, certainly, and pleasuring women is his favorite sport. Tonsil hockey is a close second. Flattering them until they’re as red as the morning sun is a definite third. 

His casual, blasé, “I think I’m in love,” makes Cloud choke on his morning coffee. 

“You’re what?” he asks him.

Zack pats his back while Cloud tries to stifle the cough. 

“In love,” he shrugs. “Or something like it. I don’t know. She’s just…different.”

 _Different_ is usually the code word for _not having had sex_ with her, yet. Cloud recovers from his coughing fit and smirks. 

“So you’re in love with her because she hasn’t let you sleep with her.”

“No!” Zack protests, spreading his arms wide. “It’s not that. I’m—she—she’s on my mind all the time. I actually want to _do_ things for her without receiving anything in return. And that’s…” Zack sighs, shaking his head. “That’s…new.”

It _is_ new. Zack is struggling with his words, and that’s new, too.

“Be the ball. What does that mean?”

“Roll with the punches. Go with the flow. That kinda thing,” Zack says. “Let things happen. With Aerith, I tried to force a lot of things. Dates. Annoying her. Following her around. She basically flicked me away like a bug.”

Cloud’s eyebrow twitches. “And you went with the flow by…being flicked away?”

Zack raises his pointer finger. “Actually, yes. I finally left her alone. I stopped thinking about it. I didn’t stop thinking about _her,_ but I stopped thinking so hard about what I was doing. You know how hard that is for me.”

Cloud does know. Zack thinks about everything related to himself several hundred times a day. His aftershave. His hair gel. His cologne. His clothes. 

“I didn’t go up to her for weeks. I only stared at her in class, from afar, daydreaming how it would be for her to be mine…” Zack sighs theatrically. Cloud rolls his eyes. 

“Then I accidentally bumped into her outside of classes. She talked to me. I tried to play it cool, and I couldn’t even do that. It was like I had just hit puberty.” Zack shakes his head at himself. “I’ll never be more embarrassed than I was that day.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Cloud says. 

“It was,” Zack says, voice solemn and full of despair. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Cloud continues smirking at him, scoffing at Zack’s dramatic flair. “Yet, somehow Aerith found you adequate…”

Zack huffs. “I’ve learned that there’s a force in the universe for things. _Especially_ the important things. So, you just gotta roll with it and take some chances.” He answers the beep of the microwave, pulling out his heated cinnamon bun. He blows on it for half a second before shoving a large bite into his mouth. He holds up the bun. “ _Roll,_ get it? Like this cinnamon roll.”

“Shut up, Zack.”

Zack answers with a grin, his cheeks protruding with his breakfast. 

Cloud thinks of it, now. _Be the ball._ It had a lot of potential at the time, inside their apartment kitchen. It was motivating. Cloud might even admit it had inspired him. 

He just hadn’t realized it would become so…literal. 

He feels a sudden pressure against his shin, shaking him out of his daze. He glances down to see the soccer ball gently rolling away from him. 

“Yo, Spiky! Get your head outta your ass!”

He holds back a grunt. Barrett Wallace is the professor—or, for lack of better term, _instructor_ —of his elective class. In Cloud’s opinion, Mr. Wallace has no reason or credentials to be classified as a professor when all he teaches are the ins and outs of sports, taking attendance, and being maddeningly belligerent all the time. The first day, Cloud had walked into the class as soon as Mr. Wallace had begun his lecture, and Mr. Wallace deemed him tardy. Ever since, he’s taken a keen interest in harassing Cloud every chance he could get. Mr. Wallace’s targeting made it easy for Cloud’s mutual hatred to surface, especially once he began to call him _Spiky._

Cloud remembers that day easily. He remembers it all the time. He doesn’t remember it because he had been so deeply embarrassed that he blushed to the roots of his hair. He doesn’t remember it because he couldn’t answer the question he was asked. 

He remembers it because he had dropped his pen. 

It rolled in a fortuitous, forward direction, tapping on the girl’s sneaker who sat in front of him in class. She noticed, curling a chunk of her hair behind her ear, and reached down to pick it up. She turned to him, and she smiled. 

“Hey, Cloud. You dropped this.”

Cloud swallowed. Tifa Lockhart. The girl he grew up with. The girl who lived right next door. The girl who infected him with the sickness. _The_ girl. He glanced down at the pen she was handing to him. He suddenly forgot how to move his arms. 

“Spiky!” 

Cloud flinched, glancing away from Tifa towards the front of the room. Mr. Wallace’s frown was so deep and severe, directed at him, it looked like the breaking line in an avalanche. 

“Care to answer the question, or are you too busy flirting with Miss Lockhart?”

“Uh…” Cloud had said, blinking. “I don’t know.”

Mr. Wallace only shook his head. “Clueless. Shinra!” he hollered, moving on quite abruptly. “Can _you_ answer the question? Or is everyone in here brainless?”

Cloud hunched down in his seat. He felt himself blushing. Now, Tifa would think he _was_ a clueless guy who had no idea whatsoever about soccer. And would potentially think he was trying to flirt with her, which he clearly hadn’t been—not that it would be a _bad_ thing if she thought that…but considering everything else…

“Hey,” Tifa whispered, tapping his desk. Startled, Cloud looked up to her. She was still smiling. He felt like he couldn’t get any redder, and _how much more embarrassing could this get._ “Don’t worry. Mr. Wallace only has nicknames for the students he likes.”

She winked at him and placed his pen on his desk before turning back around in her seat. 

He stared at the back of her head. The sigh pulled out of him, low and long. He took his pen and spun it between his fingers. Maybe he could accidentally drop his pen more often, then she’d have to turn and talk to him, and then she’d realize how much she—

He almost scoffed. No, guys didn’t drop their pens. Girls did. Just like they used to drop their bonnets or their gloves. Who was he kidding?

Cloud takes the ball in front of him and dribbles it around with his foot before passing it back to Reno. _Who was he kidding?_ Had been a very consistent and repetitive thought that had lingered in his mind since he was twelve. He glances across the field. Tifa stands beside a few of the girls in the class—Jessie and Yuffie, Cloud thinks—while stretching her arms above her head. They drew numbers from a hat, with Tifa drawing the number one, and Cloud drawing number two, sealing their fates that they would be on opposing teams. It had been disheartening, but not altogether surprising. It seems that it’s always been that way, Cloud watching her from afar, being on the other side of the invisible partition between them. 

She takes one of the soccer balls and does a few warm up drills with it before passing it over to Yuffie, who does the same and passes it to Jessie. 

Cloud watches Tifa move with the ball, completely taken with how she commands it. It twirls between her legs like it belongs there, stuttering and changing direction with the different positions she takes with her feet, popping up when she digs her toe, and soaring across the field when she strikes it midair. It sails to Rufus, who tries to corral it from the air with his chest. Tifa grins at something Yuffie says, shaking her head and laughing. 

Tifa had been the star goalie back in Nibelheim. Growing up, Cloud had been so sure she’d get a scholarship for university, leave for some hotshot school, and forget all about her friends and her hometown once she became famous. 

Life ended up veering in a different direction.

She must feel his gaze, because she turns her head, and their eyes catch abruptly across the expanse of the field. Cloud glances away quickly, diverting his attention to the movement of the ball on his side. Reno is hogging it, as per usual. Unable to help himself, he dares a glance back towards Tifa. 

To his surprise, it looks like Tifa’s making her way towards him. Then he thinks he’s seeing it wrong, and she’s walking toward Rufus who stands just to the right between where Cloud is positioned and Tifa’s line of sight.

When she gets closer, Rufus stops her, and Tifa pauses, smiling politely and telling him something. Rufus reaches a hand out and places it on Tifa’s shoulder. Tifa, with a puzzled expression, glances at it, then back up to Rufus. Cloud can’t see Rufus’ expression from the angle, but his eyes hone in on his hand resting against Tifa’s bare shoulder. His eyes narrow.

Rufus Shinra. Rich, college frat boy, president of the student government, and co-chair of the sports club, Rufus is one of those slick, cool, holier-than-thou giants of campus. He does the frequent hair flicks and smoldering. Of course, it only makes sense that he gravitated towards Tifa, who has always had an aura of popularity clinging to her like ants at a picnic.

Cloud’s chest thuds painfully. Struck with the sickness, he thinks again. She’s infected his heart in the most insidious way. Purulence leaks out of him with every squeeze of his heart when she’s around, and even when she’s not. She hovers over him like the rank of fever. Every lining around his organs is inflamed. Every time she merely looks at him, it feels like he’s going to pop like a pimple.

He’s hopeless. Why has it lasted this long? It seems it’s only gotten worse over the years. And it isn’t as if he hasn’t tried to do anything about it. He has. Senior year of high school—

The soccer ball hits him in the back. He stumbles forward, losing his breath and cursing.

“Damn it,” he growls, turning around. He sees Reno doubled over and Rude with a rare smile on his face. Cloud kicks the ball hard towards Reno, where it smacks him in the chest as he goes to stand up. He takes a step back from the force before he trips and falls on his face, still laughing.

“Holy shit, Strife! You need to kick the ball like that all the time!”

Rude helps him up off the ground, and Cloud scowls. He’s suddenly angry and frustrated at everyone. Mr. Wallace. Reno. Rude as an accomplice. Rufus. Everyone with a name that starts with the letter R.

He glances around at the other classmates, still warming up. They don’t start their _friendly_ class game for several more minutes. Running his hands over his face and expelling a huff, Cloud takes off in a jog around the field.

He doesn’t notice Tifa watching him make his rounds. He doesn’t notice her polite attempts to end her conversation with Rufus. He doesn’t notice her bite her lip when he wipes the sweat off his brow with the bottom of his shirt.

Cloud doesn’t notice any of it, too distracted by his thoughts of her. 

* * *

The size of the field isn’t as large as a real soccer field, hitting around two thirds of the actual size. Due to the number of students in the class, each member has to participate for at least 5 minute rounds before switching out.

From their physical labs earlier in the semester, Mr. Wallace chose the first positions they would play. Then, thereafter, the teams could rotate as they would like once figuring out strategy. Unfortunately, most of the classmates don’t care about who wins and are only here for the automatic pass for participating. The few members who seem to be competitive are Yuffie, Reno, Johnny, Elena, and a few others Cloud doesn’t know.

Cloud’s only taking this class because—if he’s honest—and if he completely admits it to himself and repels denial—Tifa signed up for it. He’d never see her, otherwise, and the thought of losing any and all connection with her made his stomach shrivel up like a dead flower.

Everyone is grouped into partners by Mr. Wallace, who determines partners by matching positions. Because of his mile time, Cloud will play the midfielder position, first. He ends up being partnered with Biggs, who achieved a similar rank in fitness testing.

Tifa is, unsurprisingly, the goalie for the opposing team. Rufus is a defender. Yuffie is a forward, and Jessie is a midfielder. Reno and Rude are the defenders on Cloud’s team, and Cloud is curious to see how Yuffie and Reno will go to combat when they ultimately face one another.

Cloud eyes Rufus. He’s sure he’ll get penalized when he rams his shoulder into Rufus’ stomach.

“Remember!” Mr. Wallace bellows. “This is a friendly, class match! Ya hear me? Friendly! Don’t make me suspend anyone! And no rough housing, got it?”

“Pft. Suspended for an elective?” Cloud hears Reno mutter behind him. “He’s trying to sound important.”

“Hm,” Rude answers.

When the game begins, it’s slow going at first. There’s a lot of fumbling around from the inexperience of some of the students. Cloud has had a bit more practice from his younger years in Nibelheim, playing around with other kids after class for pick-up games, and occasionally Tifa, during those days where the stars aligned and the moon eclipsed the sun. 

He signals for a pass, and once receiving it, he takes the ball further infield. He dribbles until he sees an opening from another teammate, and he spends a split second debating on passing or attempting to cut through Rufus’ defense. 

He passes and instantly regrets it when Rufus tries to tap the ball off its trajectory. He misses, but he comes in close to Cloud’s proximity, and he sneers at him. 

“Intimidated, Strife?”

“You wish, Shinra.”

Rufus smirks, giving him a little shove. “You can’t get past Tifa, anyway. She’s solid.”

He says her name with such familiarity, it chafes at Cloud. It’s a ridiculous thing to affect him so much, but Cloud can’t find it in him to quell the building friction of anger. He’s grateful to see Tifa has already blocked a shot at the goal and is in the process of throwing the ball out to a teammate. Cloud jogs away from Rufus to follow the path of the ball. 

The game continues like that, with the ball apprehended by various members of both the opposing team and Cloud’s team alike. It occasionally falls into Cloud’s team’s side of the field, with Jessie and Yuffie combatting Elena and Reno for attempts at points. Wedge is the goalie on Cloud’s side, and he surprises Cloud with the sudden appearance of his agility when blocking. Yuffie tends to curse up a storm, with Jessie attempting to console her. The back and forth starts to become tedious and exhausting, the running and cutting turning slowly into lazy jogs and half-hearted kicks. 

Cloud tries to feint and confuse Tseng, another defender on the opposing team, or Rufus if he’s in the vicinity, but Rufus is frustratingly good at following the ball and ignoring the movement of Cloud’s feet. A few times, they kick at each other’s shins, and once, they tumble over one another, elbowing as they fall to the grass. Cloud shoves him away when they stand, Rufus grimacing and saying, “What the hell’s your problem?” To which Cloud doesn’t deign answering.

Cloud tends to keep his eye a quarter of the time on the ball and three-quarters of the time on Tifa, who keeps warm by pacing across the line of the goal or hopping in place. He grits his teeth and tries to stop staring at her, becoming frustrated at himself and his feelings again. It doubles when Rufus catches him staring at her, and he smirks, almost _knowingly._ It is a foreboding look on him.

“What’re you gazing at, Strife?” he asks, tauntingly. 

Cloud buckles his jaw. “Anything other than _your_ ugly ass,” Cloud answers, pushing his blush back with sheer force of will. 

“Sure,” Rufus laughs. “I see what the problem is, now.”

“Shut up, Rufus,” Cloud growls. 

Rufus only glances behind him to Tifa, still grinning. It catches her attention, and she looks to both of them. Her eyebrows raise at Rufus, but when her eyes land on Cloud, she gives him a small smile. 

_She’s so pretty._ Cloud scowls. She’s always been pretty. She makes his mind muddle and spark and have the capacity of a five year old. 

Tifa begins to frown when Cloud realizes he answered her smile with a scowl. He runs a hand roughly through his hair. Can he _be_ any more imbecilic? 

“Cloud!” Elena calls, gaining his attention. She goes to pass to him, being chased by Yuffie, who seems hellbent and crazed, her eyes like lasers on the ball. Cloud sprints over and reaches the ball before Yuffie can get her feet around it, and Elena is able to trip her up before she can follow him.

Cloud dribbles and evades Tseng, who comes upon him much more quickly than Rufus. Cloud passes to Johnny, who holds it for a moment before Cloud runs into an opening. Johnny passes it back to him, and Cloud uses his momentum to try and pass Rufus. Rufus kicks at the ball, but he hits one of Cloud’s ankles, and the zing that shoots up his leg is like burning electricity. Cloud hisses and tries to maintain control of the ball, but is overtaken by Tseng, who slips into their scuffle and kicks the ball out to Jessie. 

Heart pounding with the furious spark trailing up his bones, Cloud shoves Rufus hard. Rufus stumbles back and falls to the ground. He stares up at Cloud with slack-jawed disbelief. 

“Goddamn it, Strife, what are you trying to prove?” he says, pushing himself up to standing. 

“Nothing, if you’d get out of my way.”

“Tch. There’s no way I’m letting you try to score a goal.”

“As if you could stop me. It’s Tifa who’s too good.”

Rufus has the gall to perform a hair flick and a side glance to Tifa. Upon a quick turn of his head, Cloud realizes she has her arms crossed and is watching their interaction. Cloud has a sudden rush of shame overcome him, and he wonders if she had seen him shove Rufus to the ground moments before.

 _Probably,_ he thinks. _She probably thinks you’re still a bully._

“Listen, Strife, I think I get it, now. All this peacocking for Tifa is cute, but she’s out of your league.”

At Rufus’ words, Cloud feels his skin prickle. The hair raises on the back of his neck. 

“I never _said_ anything about Tifa.”

“You didn’t have to. Your eyes are in the shapes of _hearts,_ you’re making it so obvious.”

Cloud’s teeth grind together. It sounds like creaking metal in his skull.

“You’re the one who drools after her like a dog.”

Rufus guffaws. “She loves the attention, just like any other whore.”

Something bursts through Cloud—similar to a newborn animal cracking through an eggshell. The rush of anger is a living thing, tearing at his joints like tissue paper. 

“What did you say?” Cloud hisses, shoving up against Rufus’ chest. He pushes his hands against him again, and Rufus stumbles back. He continues to grin at Cloud’s reaction, and Cloud feels like he’s about to morph into another by being. He briefly daydreams of Rufus’ face bloody, bruised, and swollen, unable to smolder or pout or smirk.

“Like you said, Cloudy boy,” Rufus says, instead of answering him. “She’s too good, but she’s really too good for _you.”_

Neither of them is paying attention to the game, anymore, stuck wholly in a stare down. Cloud feels his breath come out of his throat like fire, and Rufus’ icy blue eyes glint with triumph and grotesque satisfaction. 

“Son of a bitch,” Cloud growls, and before he can do anything that warrants a suspension, Mr. Wallace blows a whistle. Cloud distantly registers the sound. 

“Spiky! Shinra! Put your dicks away and play the game or I’ll take you both out! This is my last warning!”

Rufus laughs and holds up his hands in a mockingly placating gesture. Cloud remains standing where he is, seething. 

“Yes sir, Mr. Wallace,” Rufus calls over. 

Cloud says nothing, only allowing himself to break his glare from Rufus when he steps back a few feet. When he turns his head, his eyes land on Tifa. She’s still regarding him, and she offers him a bemused look, frowning at him. It’s such a reminiscent look from a time long past, that it shocks the rage out of his system instantaneously. He tries to offer her back a smile, but he can’t quite make one. 

_Like any other whore._

The words buzz in his mind like static. He hears nothing else. He ignores Rufus the best he can, settling his eyes on the game and placing more concentration in following the movement of the ball than the movement Tifa makes when she paces. Cloud tries to wash out the sensations running through him by focusing on the vibration of endorphins feeding his system from the physical activity, chasing the ball and assisting and participating with more intention. 

When he sees the opening to make Rufus eat his words, he takes it without question.

_Like any other whore._

_She’s really too good for_ you.

Perhaps that’s what makes him so angry. Besides Rufus’ blatant insult to Tifa, Rufus implies he _is_ good enough for Tifa, his character notwithstanding. And on paper, he is. He’s everything Cloud can never be, and there is a deep, unsettling sizzle that putters to life inside of him at the thought. It’s been the branding on him his whole life. Substandard. Mediocre. Insignificant. Who thought childhood traumas would reinforce themselves in a college soccer game? The limitless reaches of the world never cease to amaze Cloud. 

When he next receives the ball, he dribbles it down the throat of the field. Rufus has stationed himself in front of Tifa and the goal as if he’s her keeper, his smirk fastened securely in place, his eyes glinting with condescension as bright as the sun. 

Cloud tenses, stutters a step, and knocks back his leg. He sends the ball flying like a torpedo towards Rufus’ perfect, symmetrical face, and he hopes he smashes his nose so deeply that he won’t be able to breathe for a week.

Cloud doesn’t anticipate Rufus will duck out of the way. He doesn’t anticipate the trajectory to curve wide, nor does he realize how close Tifa is to the open field. As soon as Rufus is out of Cloud’s line of sight, he sees it all happen before it happens. 

As quick and reactive as Tifa is, the ball is too close and flying too rapidly for her to give an adequate block. She tries to raise her hands, but the movement is not fast enough.

Cloud’s kick smacks Tifa right on her temple. 

_Be the ball,_ Cloud’s mind taunts him. Yeah, right. Not like _this._

He’s never listening to Zack again. 


	2. ii.

The sound is like a sonic boom. It’s a gut punch. Cloud feels it in his solar plexus. 

A whistle blows in short, sporadic bursts, and he can distantly hear Mr. Wallace bellowing something. Cloud’s legs run to take him to where Tifa is still, somehow, standing. As soon as he reaches her, she’s beginning to kneel on the ground, holding the side of her head. 

“Tifa—“ he starts, kneeling beside her. “Are you—are you okay?”

“Oh, fine,” she breathes. “Not like I’ve never been hit by a soccer ball before.”

She says it with an upbeat tremor, but Cloud can tell she’s struggling. She blinks a few times and lifts her head up to him. She seems a bit dazed but otherwise unaffected. 

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—I thought Rufus—“ 

“Cloud,” she huffs, chuckling softly and closing her eyes. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it. I could have blocked.”

“I—“ he tries again, reaching out to touch her shoulder. Before he can gain the nerve, Mr. Wallace stomps up to them, along with Yuffie, Jessie, and Johnny. 

“Spiky! What’d you do, now?” Mr. Wallace shouts, and Tifa winces. She goes to stand, and Cloud stands with her, his hands hovering around her torso. He’s nearly shoved to the side by Yuffie, who grips one of Tifa’s arms and holds her, staring up at her face. Tifa mutters something and gently pries herself away from Yuffie.

“It’s not his fault. Just part of the game,” she says quietly, looking up to Mr. Wallace. She takes a step to regain her balance, and Cloud hovers closer, briefly touching her shoulder to help her regain her balance. She sighs, and her eyebrows pinch. He takes his hand back immediately.

Mr. Wallace crosses his arms down at her. “Lockhart, you’re going to the medical unit. _No_ buts,” he interrupts as she begins to protest. “If you gotta concussion, you’re not playing anymore today, anyway.”

“Mr. Wallace—“ she tries, crossing her arms and closing her eyes for a moment before opening them again, a deep frown marring her features. “I’ve had a concussion before. I know what it’s like. I don’t need to go to the medical unit.”

Mr. Wallace bears down on her further. “And I don’t care what you think, Miss Lockhart. You’re going.”

Tifa’s never been one to disrespect authority. Somehow, she _likes_ Mr. Wallace, and for all of his bluster and gruffness and grit, Mr. Wallace softens at the look on Tifa’s face. 

“Fine, Mr. Wallace,” she mumbles, uncrossing her arms and shifting her weight. “Let me grab my things, and I’ll go.”

“Wait,” Cloud says, and he pauses at everyone’s looks, uncertain, suddenly, if what he was going to offer is necessary. “I’ll…I’ll escort her. If that’s alright with you,” he says, directing the statement to Mr. Wallace. Mr. Wallace quirks his lips in thought before he relents. 

“Fine, Spiky. Make sure she gets there in one piece and doesn’t pass out.”

“You _better_ make sure, or I will find you and kick your ass so hard, you’ll need a colostomy bag,” Yuffie threatens, crossing her arms. “I would go in a heartbeat, but this team _needs_ me.”

Cloud hears Tifa huff, and he smiles a bit at her disgruntlement. 

“Sure, Yuffie,” Tifa says. 

Yuffie hesitates, then directs a concerned glare at Cloud. “Seriously, though. Tifa, let them take care of you.”

Jessie and Johnny both voice their worry, too, and Tifa waves them off with a forced smile. “Like I said, I’m fine,” she says, and she begins walking toward the sidelines. Cloud follows behind her until they come upon her duffle bag, and he steps in front of her before she can reach it. 

“I’ll take it,” he says, grabbing the handles and bringing the strap around his shoulder. 

Her mouth parts at him, and she blinks again. “You don’t…I can do that.”

“I’d prefer carrying it, Tifa,” he says, and he’s suddenly aware of her stare. Because it’s slightly unfocused is why he can stand it, or talk through it, he thinks. Her cheeks are flushed from the game, her hair placed in what once was a high ponytail, now drooping at her neck from the hopping and jumping. _She’s so pretty,_ he thinks again, his mind a broken record. He swallows and glances away toward the general direction of the medical building. 

“If you…I mean, fine. That’s…fine.” She pauses before saying, “Don’t make it a habit.” Then she smiles at him, and his heart pulses with oozing infection. It is hot and thick, a viscous sludge within his stomach, and he has a sudden fantasy—a sudden daydream. He imagines dropping her duffle bag and picking her up instead, holding her in his arms like a princess, her breath hitting his neck and arms curling around his shoulders as she says, _Don’t make it a habit,_ with that same smile on her face. 

It’s an abrupt and vivid picture that settles against his mind, and his hands tighten on her bag. He clears his throat. 

“Let’s go.”

As they begin their trek across the few blocks of campus, Cloud stays near Tifa’s side, ready and watching her walk, one foot in front of the other, waiting for a stumble or a trip or a pause, anything that is remotely uncharacteristic or suspicious. She remains steady most of the way, and she only wobbles once. Cloud reaches out automatically and touches three fingers against the back of her arm. They both stop walking, and she looks up at him once she steadies. 

“This is the most you’ve talked to me all semester,” she says. “I think you’ve talked to Rufus more today than you have to me.”

Cloud slowly drops his hand away from her, his face heating up under her absorbing stare. Her eyes are like sponges, soaking him up. 

“I…”

When he can’t say anything to answer, she gives her head a little shake. 

“This was very nice of you, walking me to the doctor’s office.”

He glances to the sidewalk. “It was the least I could do.”

“Still,” she says, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. “I didn’t think we were…friends, anymore.”

Senior year hits him again, with a series of pictures running through his mind like pelts of hail against a roof. They all sting when they land against his eyes. 

“Being a decent person is different than being friends,” he hears himself say, and it’s the last thing he wants to come out of his mouth. But that’s nothing new. The disappointment that flickers across her face _is_ new, and Cloud does a double take, because he never thought she’d look at him like that and—suddenly, he wishes he was brave and naive and more idiotic than he already is, because then he’d ask her, _Hey, can we be friends, again? If we were friends? Because I miss it._

“You’re right,” she says softly, glancing at the ground with a faint smile on her lips. “I’m sorry for thinking…about that.”

“Don’t be,” he says, and a panic threatens his throat. He’s losing her again. How do you get it back when it runs through your fingers like sand? He sees her shielding herself away from him, and he’s always been so terrible at saying what he means and saying what he wants.

The times he did had been _shit,_ and now, here they are, with Tifa Lockhart avoiding his gaze, and his throat crinkled and pinched with nothing to offer her. 

“We’re…almost there,” he ends up saying, and she nods, continuing on. He stays by her side, arms swinging inches apart from one another, and yet they manage to feel miles and miles away.

* * *

They arrive at the medical building a few minutes later, and the silence they walk in is almost detrimental. So many things to say and so many things to ask—and he can’t ask any of them. They haven’t been this alone for more than a year. He wonders if she keeps tabs on it like he has, and he realizes how foolish the thought is. 

They sit in the waiting area, Cloud taking the seat beside her. She doesn’t seem to mind, but she fiddles with the soccer gloves that are still on her hands. She fidgets enough that she pulls them off and folds them in her lap. 

“I can put those in your bag,” he eventually offers. 

“Oh,” she starts, looking up at him. Her eyes catch his again, and he feels like a netted fish, squirming and trapped. He sighs a breath and holds out his hand. She takes her gloves and puts them in his palm. Her fingertips graze against his and he’s— _this is stupid,_ he thinks. 

“Thank you, Cloud.”

“Sure,” he mutters, shoving them into the bag and looking at the wall ahead of them. He crosses his arms and leans his head back as they wait. 

“Listen,” she starts, and his body seizes and _why is he so reactive?_ “You can go back to the game, or you can go home or do something else. You don’t have to stay with me here.”

“I’m staying,” he says, avoiding her gaze. “I said I would.”

“No, you said you’d make sure I made it without hurting myself. You’ve done that. You can leave.”

He closes his eyes. Here it is again, a repeat of the stanza. The same ripples across the same lake. _I can take care of myself. You don’t have to be here for me. I’m strong enough on my own._

“I don’t give a shit about the game,” he mumbles, eyes still closed. “I’d rather be here.”

 _Even if you don’t_ need _me._

She says nothing, and a few minutes pass before he dares to look at her. She’s glancing at his crossed arms. She looks away when she notices his gaze. 

“I don’t want to be a burden to you, Cloud.”

She’s never used that term, before. He stares at her. 

“You’re not a burden, Tifa.”

Her lips part as if she’s about to say something, then they close. Her lips curl under her teeth, stapling them together. She gnaws at her cheek. 

A missed opportunity, he thinks. What had those words been, right before she closed her mouth? 

As they sit, Cloud fosters his nerve like he’s coaxing a flame from two pieces of wood. Slow and steady and tedious. And difficult. Very difficult.

“Tifa…” he starts, sitting up further in his chair. He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees. “I never cared much about soccer.”

He sees her shift out of the corner of his eye. “You…what?”

“I don’t care about playing it.”

She’s silent for a moment before she says, “I didn’t realize you…so…why did you choose to take it for school? You could have chosen so many different electives.”

A wry smile tugs up at one end of his lips. He turns to look at her, and her puzzlement is endearing with her pinched eyebrows and her serious stare. His half-smile falls as he stares at her, and he doesn’t—and can’t—answer her. 

“Miss Lockhart?” the nurse calls from the doorway. They both look up. Tifa goes to stand, and Cloud forces himself to remain sitting. 

_You don’t have to be here for me._

She glances back at him. “Do you…will you wait?”

The words come without him thinking. “Yes. I’ll be here.”

For the first time since they’ve been together, alone, basking in each other’s space, Tifa gives him a small, genuine smile. She turns and follows behind the nurse. 

Cloud looks down and realizes his knuckles are white, gripping the handles of the duffle bag. He breathes out, lets them go, and does what he promised. He waits. 

As Cloud waits, he continues staring at the wall in front of him. It has a picture of a flower field framed in a plain, wooden frame. It matches the uninspired color palette of the rest of the room, with a plastic fern sitting as a centerpiece on the table with years old magazines and solid blue, empty vases in the corners. The seats have cracked plastic coverings on them, brown and beige with stiff, wooden backing. Cloud shifts, but he won’t be able to get comfortable. He stands up and walks to one of the windows that is shielded with cheap blinds. He glances out to the campus sidewalks and sighs.

He doesn’t like thinking about it, mostly because he’s forced to think about it almost daily. Every other day as he goes to his athletic elective and gazes pathetically at Tifa’s hair while he sits behind her, forming a thousand conversation starters in his mind to forge something between them again—and then class is dismissed, and he’s learned nothing except for what a complete and utter dingbat he is for never building up enough courage to say one single word other than _hey_.

Cloud crosses his arms in front of his chest and watches a few students walk along the cobblestone pathways. He closes his eyes and expels another breath.

He had finally built up enough courage senior year, when he didn’t think he’d see her again because she was going to be famous—until she wasn’t—and now he’s haunted by it, forever.

* * *

They have never been very close. Cloud had tried to get close to her, and to him, he felt close. But his definition of close and everyone else’s definition of close have never been on par with one another.

For Cloud, he’d talked to Tifa more than he had anyone else. They met each other five times on the well situated at the north side of town, secluded and isolated from prying eyes. They met when they couldn’t sleep and had too many thoughts on their minds. He’d talk to her about her family and school. She’d talk to him about her dreams and aspirations, and how she wondered what it would be like to move to the big city. She told him things about herself that he kept stitched on his heart, like how she had a hard time pleasing people because it was so exhausting or her favorite time of day, which was the deep, cavernous nighttime when they’d always meet. She confessed to how her and her mother would clash because they were too similar to each other. She talked about her favorite subject in school, which was history, and how she’d never tell anyone because she was embarrassed about it—who even liked history?

Cloud had asked, “Why’d you tell me?”

She shrugged, glancing down the steps of the well, them up to the stars. “I don’t know. I guess I thought you’d be the only one who wouldn’t make fun of me too badly.”

“I’m a bully,” he had said, because he was. He got into fights with all the town kids who would pick on him, and he scuffled with them because Cloud was odd, and he didn’t have many friends. Cloud tried not to let it bother him, but growing up with all of those guys for so many years had gotten under his skin. He thought he would have gotten used to it by now, but the truth was he couldn’t wait to leave all of them behind.

“No, not a bully,” she said, giving him a smile. He stared at it and thought his eyeballs would explode. “You just look out for yourself, that’s all.”

In the grand scheme of things, it had been a mere drop of time together—nothing of note and nothing memorable. To Cloud, though, he had cherished those evenings. Covered in the blanket of night, he felt _seen_ , by the girl who had plunged her fingers into his heart like rusty nails.

At her words, he smiled a little, and after that night he knew it was all over for him. There was no going back—there was no vaccine. There was no medication. There was only getting through it—enduring it—and hoping and praying he’d survive to see the other side. 

When the school year was coming to a close, he had stewed with it long enough. He knew what he had to do. It was going to be his last ditch effort. He was going to tell her, and he was terrified, because it was either going to ruin everything or be the most glorious time of his life. It was a risk. It was reckless, and it could shatter him completely—but it was his last chance, and the worst thing that could happen was rejection. That’s all. It was only a big deal if he made it a big deal. She was going to leave after school ended, anyway, and...

Perhaps it would shatter him more if she never knew. Perhaps if she knew, it would finally…cure him.

He takes a deep breath. He had asked her to meet him on the old Nibel soccer field once her parents fell asleep, and she had agreed with a surprised smile. Oh, her smile. At his mental image of it, his nerves multiply, and he begins pacing along the crudely powdered sideline, hands in his pockets. His legs twitch with agitation, and his hands curl into fists against the lining of his blue jeans.

“Hey,” she says when she arrives. Her hair is back in a high ponytail, the kind she uses during her games, when she’s ready for action. She smiles brightly at him, and it makes every muscle in his body more agitated and desperate. His fists clench harder, and he’s happy she can’t witness them.

“Hey,” he answers. “Thanks...for coming.”

“Of course. What did you need?”

He steels himself and wonders why he thought this was a good idea in the first place.

“I, uh, I heard scouts will be here at the next game,” he says.

Tifa nods. “Yeah. I’m hoping I can get a scholarship.”

“You will,” he blurts. “You’re...uh, the best.”

At that, she blushes. “Oh, thank you, Cloud. I hope they think so.”

Cloud shifts his weight. “Is that still your dream? To play soccer?”

Tifa glances around the field. Some of the side lamps are still on, timed to turn off at midnight. She toes the ground, placing her arms behind her back.

“I think so,” she answers. “I’m good at it. I love playing, and playing in college sounds fun. It’s so competitive—I don’t know if I’d ever be able to be recruited professionally, but…” she trails, shrugging and shaking her head. “That’s…that seems impossible.”

As Cloud stands there with Tifa Lockhart in front of him, her hair shining under the glare of the field lights, he wants to tell her he thought _this_ was impossible, too. How he never imagined she’d deign him worthy to talk to even if no one was there to witness or see. His chest rises in a deep breath, but the infection keeps him from the confession. 

“What about you, Cloud? What’s your dream besides leaving Nibelheim?”

_Standing right in front of me._

“I…” he starts. “I just want to get into college and get away from here. Nothing specific.”

She smiles a little at that, rocking on her feet. “Run away to the big city, huh?”

He crosses his arms, glancing away from her. “I hate most of the people here. I’ve never got along with them, and I’m…tired of them. A new start sounds…”

Tifa nods. “It sounds nice and…full of opportunity.”

“Yeah,” he says. “But I don’t hate everyone.”

She tilts her head at him. “I’m sure you don’t hate your mom.”

“No,” he says, a slight smile plucking at the corners of his mouth. “Not my mom. Not you.”

She smiles at that, and he feels a flare run up his neck. “I don’t hate you, either.”

“Tifa, you don’t hate anyone.”

She laughs. “I guess that’s true.” She pauses. “So, is that what you wanted to tell me? That I’m one of the lucky ones that you don’t hate?”

His heart thumps. “Actually…kinda.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Kinda?”

His eyes find a blade of grass that is longer than the rest, missed from the meticulous grooming of the field. He stares at it determinedly. “I…like you,” he says.

He misses Tifa’s bemused smile, but he hears it in her answer. “I know. That’s usually what it means when you don’t hate someone.”

“No…” he swallows. He sighs. He scowls at the ground. “…the opposite.”

Tifa leans forward. He sees the tail of her hair fall over her shoulder. “What?”

His bones are nearly vibrating with the effort to control himself. He huffs and takes a step back. “You’re leaving. I’m leaving. It’s… I… “ Frustrated, he runs a hand through his hair and says, harsher than he means, “I _like_ you. You’re the one I don’t want to leave.”

“Cloud,” she says quietly, and her tone makes him look up. She looks struck—surprised, caught off guard, shocked. Cloud isn’t sure how to interpret it in the moment—because everything other than a smile from her feels like he uttered a mistake. “Cloud, I…”

“You don’t…have to…” he says, struggling. He takes another step back. “I just wanted to tell you. I needed to say something.” He holds up a hand before he drops it and looks away. “You don’t have to say anything back. I just…wanted you to know.”

Tifa blinks a few times. Her mouth parts, and she takes a step forward. “Cloud—“

He scuttles backward, and he knows he’s being cowardly, and he knows he’ll regret this later, but his focus is gone. Her eyes are pinching with sympathy, and he _knows_ what that look is a precursor for, and perhaps he _will_ shatter later—but at least, _at least_ , he thinks, it might shatter the fever, too.

“Don’t say anything,” he says. “I’ll—I’ll see you later.”

With that, he turns on his heel, and he nearly sprints away. 

* * *

Everything changes.

The day before the scout comes, Tifa’s mother falls ill. 

A weak blood vessel in the brain, the emergency medicine doctor had said. An aneurysm. It had been present for an unknown amount of time—weeks or, potentially, years. No one knew, and no one would ever know. The only thing they knew was that she required surgical intervention, and she was rushed into the operating room. 

They performed a procedure called aneurysm clipping. They opened up her skull. They retracted her brain. They pinched and cut and sutured the vessel.

To Cloud, it sounded like a nightmare.

Tifa’s mother had suffered multiple transient ischemic events prior to this, though no one had realized. The neurologist was hopeful for an almost complete recovery, as she was young and otherwise healthy. Though she would lose some motor control immediately after surgery, the nervous system was an amazing thing. The mind was an amazing thing. It could grow and sprout branches like new buds on a tree, green and ripe and unblemished.

Tifa misses her soccer game. The scouts inquire about her, and the coaches gush about her skills even in her absence—but suddenly, Tifa’s dream transforms and evolves into one singular hope above all else.

She wants her mother to live.

When Mrs. Lockhart comes back home from the hospital to further her recovery, Tifa and her father do all they can to accommodate her. They cook for her, help her bathe. Tifa takes double shifts at the dojo, teaching children after hours to make more money when her father is at home and not working.

Cloud’s confession seems like such a trivial thing after something of such ponderous repercussions. He watches Tifa from afar, and he isn’t sure how to make things better. Everyone sends the Lockharts flowers. They send them casseroles and cards that proclaim generic, trite messages of _get well soon_ and _thinking of you_. But what else is there to do? Cloud wonders what he can give her to help, but he can’t build new nerves for her mother. He can’t pluck a star out of the sky and unravel the wish hidden inside.

You can’t make something like this better.

And he’d never guess he’d be the one to leave her behind, instead of how it should have been.

After graduation, when the heat of June hits the town, Cloud walks over to Tifa’s house. The physical therapist has been coming weekly for her mother, teaching both Tifa and her father compensations and endurance building and progressive strengthening. She is leaving as he arrives, and she gives him a smile. Tifa is in the doorway, and she pauses when she sees him. Cloud doesn’t have it in him to smile at either of them.

“Cloud,” Tifa greets him.

“Tifa,” he answers. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “How are you?”

Tifa shrugs. “I’m fine. My mother’s getting better.”

“That’s...good.”

She smiles weakly. “It is good. We’re hoping she’ll be mostly better by the end of the year.”

 _The end of the year._ Cloud feels his lips pull down into a frown.

“Will you...will you stay here?”

Tifa grips the door jamb. She glances back into the house before she steps forward and closes the door behind her.

“My mom doesn’t want me to. She wants me to go to school. But I still need to apply for scholarships, and we don’t have the money because of the surgery and the therapy.” Tifa crosses her arms. “I don’t think I’ll start in the fall. Maybe the spring if she’s doing well, and probably Edge, because it’s not as expensive as Midgar...but it’s still so far away, and I don’t know...” she stops and hunches in on herself. “Sorry. Did you get into Midgar?”

Cloud opens his mouth and wants to tell her _don’t be sorry._ He wants to tell her to tell him everything.

“Yeah...” he says. “I did. But...it’s not supposed to be this way. You’re supposed to go where you want. You shouldn’t be stuck here—“

Tifa’s eyes narrow, and Cloud is immediately positive he said the wrong thing.

“I’m not—I’m not _stuck_ here. I’m going to stay because I...I need to. And I need to save money, and I need to take care of my mother, because what if I left them and she _died_?” Tifa bursts, and her voice cracks. She turns away from him, and Cloud feels his heart squeeze like there’s a fist around it, clenching tighter and tighter.

“I’m sorry, Tifa, I—“

“Everyone is sorry!” she says, throwing her arms up. “No amount of sorry is going to do anything, so please, don’t say it. Not you.”

Cloud nods, shame covering him because he knew that, and he said it anyway.

“Okay,” he says. “If you need anything...” he tries.

Cloud sees the tear curl down her cheek, and she wipes it roughly away. “I don’t. We don’t. Maybe a prayer or a thought for my mom from time to time, but I don’t need anything from anyone. I can take care of myself. I’m strong enough on my own. Okay?”

Cloud reaches a hand out to her shoulder, her desperate and thick emotions battering into him. He suddenly doesn’t feel like he needs courage and he doesn’t feel the crawl of cowardice tiptoeing along his back like a spider. It’s only her tears that propel him to place his and on her shoulder. It lasts for one moment before she inhales sharply and jerks away.

“You can’t stay here, Cloud,” she says. “You need to be happy. I remember what you said—“

Does he want her to remember that? Yes. Yes and no. He wondered if it had meant anything to her, and the look she gives him with red rimmed eyes and regret and sadness inflames his insides even more. Because it _did_ mean something. 

“But you don’t have to be here for me. If you care about me, you need to leave this place.”

Cloud stares at her openly, taking in what she looks at this moment. Her hair is in a high ponytail, her eyes are vermillion and the color of fierceness, her cheeks ruddy from holding back her tears, her neck taut to barricade and protect and hide what she doesn’t want him to see—and he supposes they’ve never been close, not really, not like she is with her friends at school that she hangs around every day, the ones that make her laugh and grin and hug her without abandon. 

Regardless, his stomach churns with acid, and it’s rising up his throat because he will leave her—move to another continent hundreds and hundreds of miles away—and he’s not sure if he’ll stop loving her even then.

All he can hope is that distance will be a balm for its disease swimming in his bloodstream. 

“Okay, Tifa,” he answers her. He takes one step back, then another. “Take care of yourself.”

He does what she wants. 

He leaves.


	3. iii.

Cloud continues staring out the window. His eyes are unfocused, seeing past images fly across the glass and the blinds. Had that been a whole year ago? More than a year ago. Sixteen months. 

He hadn’t been home since he came to university. The trip was too expensive, and his mother kept in contact with him through phone calls and care packages. She kept him up to date over Tifa’s family and her mother’s progress over that year, detailing when she began to walk unassisted and the day when she started taking daily walks through the neighborhood.

It took all of ten months. Tifa had sought out multiple scholarships. Their small knit community pitched in what they could. While Tifa could have gone to smaller community colleges in Rocket Town or Corel or Gongaga, she sent an application to Midgar with her mother’s powerful and unrelenting insistence. 

Cloud’s mother had asked him, on multiple occasions, if he’d like Tifa’s number. 

_Of course I would, mom_ , he’d think sardonically to himself. _I’m sure that conversation would go over_ great _if I could ever build up the nerve to call._

He was bad enough at talking in person. He was even worse over the phone. 

“Suki gave me Tifa’s class schedule this coming semester. You have different majors, but I’m sure you’d be able to take an extracurricular. What do you think?”

His mom had always known him too well. Cloud couldn’t refuse her—and it’s not like he wanted to. 

The door opens a second later, and Cloud glances over to see the nurse bidding Tifa a farewell and a gentle scolding. Tifa smiles at her. 

“You should be blaming this guy,” Tifa says, her tone light and teasing. She glances at Cloud, and Cloud feels his cheeks heat up. 

“At least he took responsibility for it,” the nurse says, looking over Cloud then winking at Tifa. “No intensive activity, like playing soccer, or _anything_ else,” she gives a pointed stare to Cloud. The implication hits Cloud a second later, and he chokes on air. “Nor anything that takes increased concentration for forty-eight hours. That means no classes either, okay? Here’s the note that you can give to your professors.”

Cloud sees Tifa sigh and take the slip. She is the only person he knows who would be disappointed about being ordered to _not_ go to class. 

“Okay,” Tifa says, placing the medical script in her short’s pocket. 

“Cloud, correct?” the nurse says, startling him. He shifts his gaze from Tifa to her. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything reckless these next two days? That’s an order. She’s already had concussions before. Multiple concussions can have long lasting effects.”

“Er…” Cloud stammers. “Okay. Yeah.”

When the nurse leaves, Tifa shakes her head at him. “Don’t listen to her. I’m not your responsibility.”

The words penetrate his skin like a needle. They cycle around with all the other memories of her words that have haunted him. 

_I’m strong enough on my own. I can take care of myself._

_I’m not your responsibility._

“You can be,” he blurts, the words abrupt and blunt. “The next forty-eight hours. Be my responsibility.”

She stares at him, uncomprehending. “What…what do you mean?”

What does he mean? He has no idea. _Who was he kidding?_

He shoves his hands into his shorts, and he curls them into fists—his favorite action, it seems to be—and doesn’t think about it. He lets the words flow, for once. 

_There’s a force in the universe for things. Especially the important things._

Zack’s voice filters into his mind, and he’d be unsettled by it had the words not rooted so deep inside of him. 

_Roll with it. Take some chances._

“What I said,” he answers. “I know you can do it yourself, but let me take care of you.”

Her mouth parts, and she continues staring at him. It’s a vulnerable look, finally unguarded, and it’s yet another stitch on his heart. 

“I’m not sure…” she trails. 

Cloud walks over to the chair where he left her duffle bag. He slings it over his shoulder, and she watches him, an uncertain frown developing on her lips. 

“Two days. That’s all,” he says. “It…won’t kill us.”

He doesn’t think it will, anyway. He’s survived the infection for this long. He doesn’t think a few more hours will do much of anything, except, potentially, drive him insane. 

It’s a small price to pay. 

Her chest rises in a breath, and she crosses her arms over her chest. It takes her a moment of thought, her eyes landing on the strap of the duffle slashing across his shoulder. Her eyes travel up to his, and slowly, she smiles. 

“I guess it won’t.”

* * *

“Which dorm do you live in?” he asks her once they’re outside. 

“Sector Seven,” she says. “They’re a bit run down, but they aren’t so bad. I room with Yuffie, and I think that makes it better.”

Cloud nods. “I lived there before moving in with Zack. He’s a year ahead of me, but he got a good deal with the owner of Stargazer Heights.” He pauses, thumbing the strap of the duffle. “I’m sure he could pull some strings if you’re ever interested.”

Tifa looks at him, though she doesn’t say anything. When he finally looks up at her, she smiles. His grip increases on the strap. 

“I appreciate that, Cloud.”

He shrugs, swallowing his blush. “Sure.”

They make their way to her dorm room to drop off her bag. She goes to the bathroom to change her clothes, and Cloud lingers awkwardly in the middle of her small, shared dorm space. He glances over the pictures of her family on her side table. He glances at the cover she’s put on her laptop—it’s patterned with the galaxy, blue and pink and indigo splashed over the top of it. She has bulleted lists beside it, and Cloud tries to avoid being so nosy—but he reads _dinner date with Yuffie after work_ , and _find three more references for PolSci essay,_ and—

The last one clips his eyes. 

_Ask Rufus about project_

It’s strange, how just his name written by her hand in the intimate setting of her dorm room can cause such a thunderous spike through his limbs. He steps back as the bathroom door clicks open, and Tifa comes out in black shorts and a loose, white t-shirt. Her hair is no longer in a high ponytail, but rests across her back, tied together at the end. 

“Thanks for letting me change,” she says, and she grabs her yellow patent leather purse from its position on the back of her desk chair. “Do you still want to go to Seventh Heaven?”

They mentioned it in passing when walking to her dorm, and Cloud answers with the affirmative. Seventh Heaven is a general student lounge. It takes up most of the first floor of the UC—university center—and serves a myriad of food and drink options. Coffee, tea, smoothies, sandwiches, pastries. It has an amalgamation of things created behind the counter in the kitchen. Couches, bean bag chairs, tables, and barstools are all spread around the area, used for studying, chatting, grouping together for projects, and the like. Off to one side is the recreational space, with ping pong tables, foosball, and pool tables.

Cloud never spends his time here unless he’s forced with a project, and oft times he’s in the library. He usually goes to the REC center after classes, using the rock wall or the weights or, when he’s inspired, the running track.

They choose a small, square table pushed up against the wall at the back, big enough for two chairs to line either side. Cloud is both at once pleased at their decision and anxious. They are secluded from the small crowd of people in the room, and it’s not like they’re under the cover of night, whispering their hopes and dreams to each other. They are merely...hanging out.

“Uh, would you like anything to eat or drink or...” Cloud asks.

“Sure,” she says. “I’ll probably just get water.”

Cloud goes to stand and so does she. He raises his hand.

“No. I’ll get it.”

“Cloud—“ she protests.

“I’m...taking care of you today, remember?” he says. “I’ll get it.”

The words seem to quiet her, and she lets him go without any more objection.

As he’s ordering her water bottle, Cloud’s eyes find the pastry display to his left. It holds cake pops and breads and croissants and pie. A memory strikes him like lightning, and Cloud is taken back to another October afternoon, the leaves a brilliant rainbow of browns, oranges, and reds. He remembers one scene in his mind, sticking to him like glue, with Tifa sharing the pastry with a group of friends in the cafeteria. 

He goes with the flow. On impulse, he buys a slice and brings the items back to the table. 

Tifa blinks in surprise at the plate Cloud places in front of her. 

“I saw it in the display,” he says when he sees her reaction. “Uh, I thought I remembered you liking it.”

“I do,” she says faintly, staring at the pumpkin bread then staring at Cloud. Cloud immediately feels in the wrong again. 

_Way to go, Cloud, you’re killing it._

“You don’t have to eat it,” he says hurriedly. “I just—uh, thought I’d…” 

He’s losing his words. They are scampering away from him like frightened little bugs. He palms the back of his neck. 

“…unless you’re only supposed to eat fruit after concussions,” he mutters, mostly to himself. Tifa must hear him, because her startled look softens into a smile. 

“Not that I’m aware of, no.”

He ducks his head further down. 

“This is…thank you, Cloud. Of course I’ll eat it,” she says. “But only on one condition.” She stands and walks back to the counter to grab another fork, settling into her seat and handing it across the table to him. “You eat it with me.”

Cloud stares at the fork for a moment before taking it. 

“Okay.”

“Do you like pumpkin?”

“Sure.”

She gives him a funny look. “Sure?”

He waits until she takes her first bite, and she’s every bit the dainty eater. He tries not to be barbaric in comparison. 

“I’m not picky.”

“So you’ll eat anything?”

“Well…not _anything._ But most things.”

She hums. “What’s your favorite dessert?”

Cloud doesn’t need to think about that answer. “Sugar cookies.”

“Sugar cookies?” She tilts her head at him. “I imagined your favorite being more…”

Cloud frowns. “More what?”

“Complex,” she answers. 

Something about the way she’s looking at him makes him shift in his seat. He busies himself with cutting another piece off the bread. 

“My mom has the best recipe for them. They’re…nostalgic.”

Tifa smiles, following after him and taking a small bite. “I love everything my mom makes.”

Cloud hesitates for a second. “She’s doing well?”

Tifa’s smile widens. “She is. She’s doing a lot better. She still has some weakness in her right side, and facial expressions are a little difficult, but otherwise she’s…mom.”

Tifa twirls the fork around on the plate, but she doesn’t take another bite. 

“I’m…sad it happened. I wish my mom never had to go through something like that, but I’m happy she’s recovered so well.” She shakes her head. “I couldn’t ask for anything better.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Tifa.”

She looks up at him, and she catches his eyes. She’s absorbing him again, like he’s being sucked out of his body.

“I’m sorry we haven’t talked more in class,” she says. “It always seemed like…”

He wonders if he knows what she wants to say. It always seemed like they _couldn’t_. It always seemed like there was a plexiglass dividing them, always as if there were no words to bridge the gap. 

“I know,” he finishes, instead. “I’m sorry, too.”

“I guess all we needed was for a ball to hit me in the head,” she says lightly.

It surprises a smile out of Cloud. Tifa puts her fork down and crosses her arms in front of her, leaning on the table.

“Why don’t you smile more?”

Cloud observes the change, noticing how she’s attempting more openness. It’s reminiscent of what she looked like when she was among her friends—and when she talks to Yuffie and Jessie in class.

“I didn’t realize I…didn’t.”

“Not often,” she admits, her eyes falling to his mouth. “Not Nibelheim, not here.”

Her stare enables his eyes to fall to her lips, too, and he abruptly looks off to the side. Daydreams rush to the front of his mind when he looks at her like that—her hugging him tightly, and what do her hugs feel like? Like a warm blanket in winter, he’s sure. Then her turning her head and standing on her tip toes, kissing his cheek, her lips as soft and pliable as pillows.

“Never cared much about smiling, I guess,” he says. 

“Never too late to care,” Tifa says, tone still light and upbeat. “You know what? Let’s make a promise.”

Cloud straightens. “A promise?”

“Nothing serious, just…something,” she says. “Something to…strive for, like a goal. We did that a lot with my mom.”

Cloud nods slowly. “Okay. What promise?”

“How about…” she says, biting her lip. She looks away this time, and Cloud is astounded by the red gleam forming on her cheek bones. “We promise to try. No more ignoring each other after this. No more acting tough or like we don’t care or…or anything like that. Let’s be friends, again.”

She says _again_ as if they had been friends before, and Cloud’s stomach twists at the thought—because she had been _his_ friend, had crowded that little niche in his heart he decorated and kept clean all for her to stay. To know now, with definite surety, he had been her friend, too, breaks through that heavy chain that’s been wrapped around his belly. He hadn’t known it was there until now, when it’s disappeared.

He realizes he’s smiling at her, and has he been smiling this whole time? He thinks he has. 

“Okay. Promise,” he says. “Let’s be friends…again.”

* * *

They stay in UC for two more hours. Cloud can’t believe how quickly time passes when he’s with her. 

She asks him about his classes and his first year at Midgar. He tells her about the life adjustments and how it took him a while to feel comfortable in such a big place with all its newness and intimidation. 

“Reno was actually my roommate when I lived in the dorms,” Cloud says. “It didn’t…help with the first year experience.”

Tifa smiles at that. “I can’t see you getting along at all.”

“I hardly survived it,” Cloud says, and he’s delighted when she laughs. “He was annoying and over the top. I guess Zack isn’t much better…”

“I don’t think I know Zack. How’d you meet him?” she asks.

“I met Zack in my general biology class last fall semester. He decided he liked me, and…” Cloud shrugs. “I don’t know. He became one of my closer friends, here.”

She looks at him for a moment, and he averts his eyes from her contemplative stare. “Has it been easier making friends?” She glances to the water bottle that’s situated in her hands. “Nibelheim wasn’t the best place to grow up in. I didn’t realize how close-minded it could be until leaving.”

“There are a few people stranger than I am,” he eventually answers, and he’s pleased once more when she glances up at him with a smile. “I don’t feel so out of place.”

“Good. Because you shouldn’t. I never thought you were weird,” she says, her eyes narrowing. “I never understood why all the guys seemed to pick on you.”

Cloud refrains from his knee-jerk response. _They picked on me because I loved you._

Well, at least, that’s what he thought as they grew older. Honestly, he’s sure when they were teenagers, no one realized this. They only picked on him because he was small, like the runt of a brood. Because he was a runt, he _must_ be weird. His father left his family, so there _must_ be something wrong with him. He enjoyed physics and complex equations, and he couldn’t converse easily with others, and all of this added up to him being… _weird._

Him pining over the prettiest, coolest, most athletic and outgoing girl in town was laughable. 

Cloud runs a hand along the back of his neck. “Small towns, small minds. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It kind of matters,” Tifa says. “But…well…” she trails, and it seems like she’s not saying something, again, just like before in the doctor’s office. “I’m just…glad we’re in a class together. The campus is so big. It would have been easy to never see you.”

Cloud thinks of the conversation he had with his mother and the premeditation and the anxiety that caused him to be late on the first day of class—and he wants to laugh at all of it. 

“Yeah,” he ends up saying. “Me, too.”

“So, are you still pursuing engineering?” she asks him, taking a sip of her water. 

Cloud blinks at her words, surprised she remembered one of the details about him. “Uh, yeah. I’m finishing my required courses, then I’m going to follow the engineering track program they offer here.”

Tifa smiles a little, picking at the label on the water bottle. “You were always so good at math and science in school. I’m not surprised.”

He glances away from her at her words. “Seemed to be the only thing I was good at, so I figured it would be a good idea to pursue it.”

She shakes her head at him. “I don’t know why you say it that way. You’re good at a lot of things.”

He gives her a bemused look. This is news to him. At his expression, she begins to smile. “You are! You’re good at listening. You always put others first. You might seem like a tough guy on the outside, but I know you’re actually a softie.”

He blushes at that. “What? No, I’m—“

“Cloud, everything I’ve ever asked from you, you’ve done.”

His mind can only think about their parting words in Nibelheim. _Okay, Tifa. Take care of yourself._

It didn’t seem very thoughtful. 

“Wasn’t hard,” he says, words jumbled inside of him. “You didn’t ask for much.”

Except that it was, at the time, _very hard._ He berates himself. He’s such a liar. 

“Oh, I asked for all kinds of things. Remember when I asked you to help me with my homework because I had back to back soccer games and didn’t have any time to finish it? And when I asked if you could bake cupcakes for the bake sale because I was working late at the dojo? I could have easily asked my mom, but she already thought I didn’t have any time and kept putting too much on my plate, so that always annoyed me. And when I asked you all the time to come watch me play in my tournaments?”

Cloud begins frowning. She asked everyone she knew in town to come watch her play in tournaments. The bake sale and the homework felt like a privilege because she asked _him_ instead of her best girlfriend or another one of her guy friends, so of course he said _yes._

“Sure, but those things were easy. It wasn’t like it took any effort.”

She shakes her head at him, sighing. “I was such a brat. I was so needy.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I _was._ I think I still am. I mean,” she pauses, gesturing to the table. “Here you are, taking care of me.”

Cloud shrugs. “I’m doing this because I want to.” And because he _needs_ to, but he’s not going to admit to that. 

She stares at him with a soft smile still on her face, and he can gaze at her all day if it was allowed and if it was proper. After a moment, he clears his throat. 

“What about you? What’s your major?”

At the questions, she becomes a bit bashful. She bites her lip. “I think…well, remember when I told you that I love history?”

“Sure,” he says.

“I think I’m going to pursue that. I’ve thought about it a bit. There are so many different branches. Art history. Counterculture. Maybe I’ll be an archivist or a curator or a researcher. Or maybe an archeologist, and uncover artifacts from old tribes found in different parts of Gaia.” She shrugs a little, beginning to pick at the label on her water bottle again. “I’m not sure, but I have some time to figure it out.”

Cloud smiles at her. “That’s great, Tifa. You should definitely pursue that.”

She smiles back. “Thanks. Now all I have to do is get over taking the general, required courses.” She wrinkles her nose. “They’re fine, but I want to start taking the more specialized courses, already.”

“You’ll get there. It tends to take a year or two.”

“Yeah. Did you have Professor Lazard for your general bio?”

“I did. He’s okay.”

Tifa sighs. “We have to do a science fair project—did you have to? I feel like it’s…elementary.”

Cloud scoffs a laugh. “Yeah. Just make a volcano. It’s easy.”

She rolls her eyes, but she smiles. “Oh, I would, but I’m partnered with Rufus, and he makes it so difficult.” 

Cloud’s mind sparks. _Ask Rufus about project._

“How’s he making it difficult? Besides being himself,” Cloud mumbles. 

Tifa chuckles at that. “You really don’t like him, do you? After seeing you both today, I thought it had just been because of the game.”

Cloud shrugs uneasily. “He’s just…full of himself, I guess.”

“Ah. Yes. He is.”

“He’s…he kind of reminds me of the old town kids in Nibelheim,” Cloud admits. “I think that’s where it stems from.”

Tifa hums in thought. Her eyes glitter with acknowledgement. “Oh. You’re right. That does make more sense.”

He shifts in his seat. “So, uh, how’s he making it difficult?”

Tifa purses her lips. “He keeps agreeing with my ideas and then disagreeing the next day. He says he’ll do one thing and then say, oh never mind, I’d rather be in charge of the essay or the particle board. He keeps wanting to meet up at his dorm. Honestly, I keep getting the feeling that he wants me to do the whole thing.”

Cloud hones in on one sentence. _He keeps wanting to meet up at his dorm._

Then he thinks about, _She likes the attention, like any other whore._

Cloud clicks his teeth together at the back of his jaw. 

“You know, I could help you with it, instead. Then you can finish it and not bother with him,” Cloud says. “He’ll get your grade, but at least you wouldn’t have to deal with him.”

At that, Tifa tilts her head at him. “I’m still going to give him a chance. It’s not due for another few weeks. But…thank you. I’ll think about it.” Then she shakes her head. “There you go, again, being a softie.”

Cloud colors. “I’m not, I’m just—“

He imagines Rufus somehow eliciting his outwardly charm and smolder and pout towards Tifa, and Tifa laughing, then Rufus grabbing her hips and pulling her in for a kiss. Cloud thinks he’d do anything to keep that from happening—and in the moment, he doesn’t care about how possessive he’s being, or how ridiculous, or how jealous. 

It’s the infection. He’ll always blame the infection. 

“I’m just…trying to help you avoid an asshole, that’s all.”

Her laughter chimes against the walls of the space. “I appreciate that, Cloud.”

They eventually meander toward the gaming area of Seventh Heaven, with its pinball machines, foosball, and the pool tables. Tifa sips at her newly acquired smoothie—which Cloud had bought for her, again, much to her frustration—while Cloud grabs one of the pool cues that rest against the rack mounted on the wall. 

“Pool isn’t an intensive activity, is it?” he asks her.

Tifa smiles. “I highly doubt it’d make me break a sweat.”

At the words, Cloud begins thinking about her covered in a sheen of sweat and suddenly tries to think of anything else. 

“Do you think, uh, it’ll take too much concentration?” Cloud asks her. 

“I don’t think so. I guess if I get a headache, we’ll know for sure.” At his look, she shakes her head lightly. “I’ve done much worse things right after my last concussion, Cloud. I hardly think playing pool counts. Besides, I’m really bad at it.”

Cloud tries to imagine Tifa being bad at something, and he can’t. 

“We’ll see,” he says, going to stack the balls together. “We can just try to hit around, for fun.”

Tifa places her smoothie on the side table, crossing her arms. “You better not laugh at me, Cloud Strife.”

There’s something intensely scintillating about her lightly teasing him. It flutters along him like the prickling of snow. 

“I make no promises,” he mutters. She rolls her eyes at him, and he endlessly enjoys the smile that settles on her face. 

He breaks the stack, half the outside balls flying along the borders of the table. The balls in the body of the stack don’t move as far, clustering in the middle of the table. Cloud gestures for her to take her pool cue. 

“Your turn. You can choose whichever kind.”

Tifa frowns in thought at the placement of the different balls scattered around. She chooses the solid green color, aiming for the corner slot. She bends at her hip and leans forward into the cue. She closes one of her eyes while taking aim. Cloud stares at her and realizes what a big mistake this is. He notices how short her shorts are. He’s completely taken with the shapes and lines her body makes with one arm outstretched to aim the pool cue and the other holding it, shifting up and down and up and down while she readies her strike. Her hair falls down along the side of her body, and her shirt rides up an inch with her movement. 

Cloud nearly jumps when her ball cracks against another, missing the green she was aiming for and curving along the right side, hitting a striped ball. It bounces against the curved corner of the slot but doesn’t fall into it. Tifa stands up and looks over to him sheepishly.

“See, I told you. I’m bad at this.”

Cloud swallows. “Not that bad,” he says, almost croaking. He clears his throat. “You hit a ball.”

She makes a disproving noise, stepping back from the table and jamming the bottom of the cue into the floor. 

Cloud steps up and aims for the green ball she had been wanting. He places it into the slot without difficulty, and Tifa makes another noise.

“You stole mine.”

“You made it too easy,” he says. He goes to take another shot but deliberately misses. She narrows her eyes at him.

“I think I saw what you did.”

“What did I do?”

“Yeah, uh-huh,” she says, shaking her head, but coming over to stand beside him. She eyes one of the striped balls, decides, and leans over again. Cloud stares at the curve of her bottom before averting his eyes and sighing. This was going to be the longest game in the history of games. 

After a few more rounds, Cloud notices one of her quirks when going to hit a ball. She tends to tense up before she makes her final strike, and the white ball occasionally bounces or misses its trajectory. Cloud hesitates after her last hit misses, then he thinks _be the ball that doesn’t hit her in the head, this time._

Steeling himself, he says, “Uh, can I show you something?”

She looks up to him. “Sure.”

He runs a hand behind his head. “If you get back into your hitting position…” he says, and she does. He brings back the white ball to set it in front of her, and she places the cue in its line of sight. Cloud hesitates again before he comes up behind her. He places his left hand against the border of the pool table, his chest hovering over her back. He is careful not to touch her, but he’s close enough to feel her heat radiating up to him, and he blinks away the thought, using all the determination he has to focus on what he wants to show her. 

“So, I’m going to guide you a little bit,” he says, his voice coming out softer and more timid than he means. He places his right hand on her striking arm, settling it against her forearm. “Once you have the line of where you want the ball to go, you don’t have to jerk your arm back so much.” He brings her arm back to where she should end, with her elbow coming up just past her side. “Right here is perfect. Don’t tense up when you make the strike. Breathe out when you make the shot. It’ll focus the aim, and it won’t careen so much off to the side.”

“Okay,” she says, her voice coming out softly, too. He feels her shift underneath him, and she edges up an inch, and it’s enough to graze against his chest. He should back away, but his left hand clenches against the pool table, instead, and the smell of her shampoo hits him in a gentle waft of flowery possession. 

She aims a few times, careful to keep her elbow at the distance he instructed. “Like this?”

He’s mesmerized by the strokes her striking arm makes with the shaft of the pool cue. “…yes,” he manages. 

He feels her breathe out when she takes her striking shot. The ball aims true, clacking with the striped ball she was aligned with. It teases around the middle slot before tucking into it, the triumphant clunk resounded like a wooden drum. 

Cloud straightens, and so does Tifa. His hand is still gripping the pool table, and she half turns her body to look up at him. Her shoulder presses and pauses against his chest. 

She grins up at him. “You were…right.”

Her voice stutters. Their faces are inches apart, and he can feel her breath hit his lips. He watches as her mouth remains parted, startled between words. Cloud’s close enough to feel like he’s drowning in the pupils of her eyes, and he glances down to the part of her lips, the opening so inviting and warm, tinged with the dark pink berry color from her smoothie. She doesn’t move away, and, in a state of transfixed shock, neither does he. 

He can distantly hear the background noise of students, but it is overpowered by the heavy, heaving beats of his heart. 

He could lean forward. What would happen? What would she do? She’s still not moving away, and that’s promising, isn’t it?

“Cloud!” someone shouts. 

It’s loud enough to jerk him out of his stare. Tifa steps away quickly, and Cloud turns his head to see Zack blazing a path towards them, his grin loud and oblivious. 

_There’s a force in the universe for things._

Cloud’s heart starts beating heavy in rage instead of infected infatuation. 

Sure, there was a force. A force that would lead him to murder. 


	4. iv.

To make it even worse, Zack greets them with an, “Oh, you’re Tifa, right? Cloud’s told me all about you.”

Cloud struggles to maintain an apathetic expression. Tifa blinks at Zack, stumbling before recovering, giving him a smile. 

“Oh. Yes. Then you must be Zack.”

“In the flesh,” he says, taking her hand and shaking it. “What are y’all doing here? Cloud never comes here to hang out unless he’s forced.”

Cloud’s words are boiling in his throat, but he clamps his lips like a lid to keep them from spouting out of him. He merely grunts while Tifa grins. 

“Well, long story short, I got a concussion, and the nurse told Cloud to make sure I felt fine for a few hours.”

Zack raises his eyebrows. “You got a concussion? Are you okay? What happened?”

Cloud’s rage putters to a chill, and he opens his mouth, but Tifa beats him to it.

“Oh, I just got hit with the ball during our soccer game,” she says, glancing over to Cloud. “I play goalie, so it happens occasionally.”

She mentions nothing about Cloud, and he’s forever grateful for her silence. He smiles at her. She gives him a subtle wink.

“Ah, damn. Well, I’m glad you’re feeling okay,” Zack says, rubbing the back of his head. “I was just heading over to my Stats class, and I was gonna grab a snack.” He points a thumb over his shoulder toward the counter. “So I’ve got to run, but it was great meeting you, Tifa. You’re just as pretty as Cloud said you were.”

Cloud’s cheeks feel like they’re blistering with the amount of heat filling him up. He stares straight ahead at a distant wall, trying to reign it in and too ashamed to look at Tifa. 

Murder. He is going to _murder._

“Make sure he _takes care_ of you, alright?” he grins wolfishly at Tifa, and he elbows Cloud in the side. Cloud glares daggers at him, but it doesn’t faze Zack in the slightest. “See you later!”

Cloud mentally imagines knives stabbing Zack’s back as he walks away. His glower is broken by Tifa’s laughter. 

“He’s funny,” she says, crossing her arms and watching after Zack, then turning her gaze to Cloud. 

“He’s…don’t listen to him,” Cloud mutters. 

“So, I guess you didn’t talk to him about me, then?” 

The tease in her tone is endearing, but the words make him feel like he’s sinking down six feet under the ground. He kind of wants to keel over and die. 

“Er—I said one thing. Zack is—he blows things out of proportion,” Cloud mumbles, glancing everywhere but at her. He scratches his face. 

“Ah, one thing. What was that?”

His stomach folds over into halves, quarters, and sixteenths. He’s a liar. He’s said plenty. 

“What he said. That you’re…pretty.” _Beautiful._ He didn’t say pretty. He said beautiful. But the word is like the big sister to pretty, and something about saying that out loud makes him die a little more inside from the embarrassment. 

Tifa is suddenly bashful again. She drops her hands and clasps them behind her back, glancing off to the side. “Um…thank you, Cloud.”

Not knowing what else to do, he clenches his hands and shoves them into his pockets. He clears his throat. 

“Let’s uh, go do something else,” he says, glancing out the large, clear panes of the windows off to the right. They border the entrance, the line of windows panelling the wall and giving an expansive view of the outside. 

“Okay,” she says, blessedly letting the awkward air pass. “What do you want to do?”

_Anything._ He thinks. _Anything else._ His mind grasps for things to entertain her with, clipping on one thing and running with it. 

“Have you seen any of the physics department?” he asks. “I’m doing a project right now for one of my classes, if you want to see it.”

He’s not really sure what he’s saying. He’s not even halfway completed with the thing, but their discussion before sparked a deep wick of inspiration inside of him. He realizes the full force of it the moment the words pass through his mouth. Tifa’s eyes brighten with interest. 

“No, I haven’t been, but I would love to see it,” she says. 

He nods slowly, gesturing with his head toward the exit of the UC. “Alright. Let’s go.”

* * *

The walk to the physics building is about ten minutes away. On the way, they pass the three story library and the REC center, along with the intramural fields where they had played their soccer game. 

“Yuffie never sent me a message about who won the game, so I have a feeling your team won,” Tifa says, smiling. “She’s too much of a sore loser to admit defeat.”

“That only happened because your team lost the star goalie.”

She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, glancing away from him.

“You’re sure you don’t like soccer?” she asks. 

Cloud shrugs. “Playing it is entertaining. I only got into it because—“ he pauses, then he thinks, _hell, I’ve buried myself already. What’s another shovel of dirt?_ “Because you played so well. I enjoyed watching you.”

“I see,” she says quietly, continuing to glance at the field as they walk past. “You weren’t half bad at it. I saw you make some really good dribbling maneuvers.”

“It was only because I wanted to beat Rufus,” he says, trying to remain nonchalant. 

She hums. “Well, maybe at our next game, we’ll be able to be on the same team.”

The thought is oddly satisfying. Him, being a defender, taking Rufus’ place on the field. He smiles to himself. 

“Yeah. Maybe so.”

They enter the physics building soon after, the entrance hall opening up into a wide, circular atrium. It is a myriad of glazed tile and metal beams, a rounded dome of frosted glass encompassing the roof like a cap. The atrium leads to four different departments. One is the undergraduate physics classes and lab rooms. Another hallway leads to the faculty offices. The offshoot to the right leads to the specialized physics classes, including chemical, mako, and mechanical engineering based laboratories and classrooms. The fourth leads to the graduate research studies division. 

The space is lined with the founders of the engineering program, including Dr. Hollander, Dr. Hojo, and Dr. Hewley, with the bust of the founder and director of mako and materia intervention in the middle of them all. Lazard Deusericus. Professor Lazard Deusericus, who teaches in the biology department, is the third generation, his father’s father one of the main establishers of the university. 

“Wow,” Tifa says, taking in the vast space. “This is huge.”

“Yeah. It’s daunting at first, but you get used to it.” Cloud turns toward the hallway leading to the undergraduate physics classrooms. Tifa follows behind him, her eyes latching onto all of the items on display while they travel down the hallway. It is almost like a museum, enshrining different evolutions of telescopes and pulley and lever systems, the first blueprints of jet engines and airships.

Cloud leads her into the physics II classroom, and he heads to one of the handfuls of lockers that line the back half of the room. He swivels the lock and unlatches it from the hook, opening the door. 

“We’re supposed to use a battery to make something original. That’s all the project requires. Bugenhagen gives us free reign with creativity and what we choose to do with it.”

He reaches in and takes out the small structure he’s built so far. It is the skeleton of a three-wheeled motorcar. Three 9V batteries are placed adjacent to where the wheels will be attached, all connected to fans and a DC unit to open the connection. As he’s explaining it, he can see Tifa’s puzzled look transform. She looks bewildered. 

“Cloud, this is amazing.”

“Uh, I don’t know about that, yet,” he says, crossing his arms as he looks down on his experiment. “It has to work, first.”

“It will,” she says, leaning forward to look at the glued joints. All he did was use a hot glue gun and small, wooden dowels to piece it together. He detached wheels from toy cars and placed the axels along the bottom dowels. “Tell me when you finish it. I want to see it.”

“…sure,” he says, suddenly enduring a fit of self-consciousness. “I’ll…let you know.”

Tifa continues examining it, running a finger along the back wheels. “You know what? I should just take you up on that science fair project. Rufus would never be so creative _or_ care enough about it.”

Cloud runs a hand through his hair behind her, and she misses the action. 

“Yeah. Whatever you want.”

Tifa smiles at the motorcar before turning to look at him. “Thanks for showing me.”

He shrugs, going to take his project and setting it back into his locker. He closes the door and locks it up again. He offers to give her a tour of the rest of the building, and she readily accepts. He takes her down the hallways to the graduate labs, with intricate systems and equations left on the whiteboards. They go through rooms with unfinished projects, and they briefly peek into the windows of the rooms where the students dedicate their time to creating dissertations. Most of the spaces are creative outlets, with unfinished ideas and pieces of machinery that are fantastical and mundane, working pieces and parts that may never see the light of day. 

“This is so inspiring,” Tifa says, placing a finger on a glass case holding a multitude of tubes and burners. “I don’t understand half of this stuff.”

Cloud scoffs a laugh. “Neither do I,” he says. “But it’s cool to look at and learn about.”

They spend another hour in the building before finding a bench outside. The day is falling into late afternoon, and Tifa stifles a yawn. 

“You still doing okay?” he asks. 

“Oh, I’m great,” she answers. “No headaches. No discomfort. I’m just tired, I guess.”

Cloud feels the settling disappointment of the day soon ending. He has another day with her, of course, but the thought of the day ending between them is a saddening prospect. He’s…enjoyed it. He’s enjoyed this a lot. 

He almost asks her if she’d like to go back to her dorm, but he finds himself asking her something else. 

“You want to hang out at my apartment?” 

He nearly bites his tongue off after saying it out loud. He feels no better than Rufus in the split second of silence that precedes the question. 

“I mean—“ he backtracks. “You can see if you like the space. Maybe we could, ah, watch a movie or…something.”

She surprises him with a smirk. He’s not sure he’s ever seen her smirk before. The sight of it darts into his stomach like a bullet. 

“As long as you bring me back at a reasonable hour, Strife,” she says, beginning to smile at the look on his face. He feels abashed at her words.

“Of course, I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—“ he starts, cutting himself off. He scoffs and shakes his head. She laughs at him. 

“I know you didn’t. I was just teasing.”

“Yeah…” he mutters, wondering why he’s such a bumbling idiot. He really needs to learn how to use his words someday in his lifetime. He stands. “C’mon. I’ll drive you there.”

When they arrive to his motorcycle, Tifa’s pause makes Cloud stop his trek. He glances over to her. 

“I’m a safe driver,” he tries, but she shakes her head, a knowing smile coming over her face. 

“No, it’s not that,” she says. “It just…makes sense, now. Your project and your love of physics. I didn’t realize you drove a motorcycle, too.”

Cloud runs a hand along the back of his neck before shrugging. “I bought it for super cheap. I’ve been fixing it up ever since. It hasn’t fallen apart yet, so I think that’s a good sign.” 

He walks over to it and slings a leg over the top. He scoots forward to give Tifa enough space to settle behind him, and after she places her helmet on and wraps her arms around his torso, the daydreams batter his skull like a ram. 

Her settling her chin on his shoulder is one of them, and she’s doing it now. He expels a breath. Another is her hands splayed across his stomach. And another, with her inner thighs squeezing the outside of his own. She’s a ball of pliable heat, the warm blanket in winter. He’s barraged by sensation. 

“Cloud?” she asks, her breath hitting his ear. “I’m ready.”

_I’m ready._

Her underneath him, hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him down against her. Her in those tiny shorts. Her shirt inching up her waist. Her hair fanned and splayed against the ground or his bed or even against the handlebars of his motorcycle. 

Whispering in his ear. _I’m ready._

His hand twitches over the throttle, the muffler growling with pent-up desire. He closes his eyes to get a hold of himself. 

Now, she’s coming willingly to his apartment, and he knows he’s in over his head. Again, on repeat, _Who was he kidding?_

“Hold on,” he grunts, and he turns and peels out of the parking lot.

* * *

Luckily, or unluckily, depending on Cloud’s choice of feeling, the drive is a short five minutes. Stargazer Heights is a gated apartment complex, sprawling a few blocks in length, and featuring all the amenities, including a gym, a swimming pool, grills for cookouts, and a community gathering center. 

Cloud takes her to his building, number four, and into his two bedroom, two bath that he shares with Zack. 

As much as Zack grooms himself, he’s a bit of a slob. Cloud isn’t as messy, but he is far from a grooming expert. Cloud’s just glad he decided to wash the dishes this morning and put his dirty clothes in the hamper. He might have died a second time if Tifa tripped on his underwear. 

Zack and him have pieced together a semblance of decor between them. Cloud brought his posters and his music collection, and Zack implemented the space with his game system and vases filled with flowers of the week, courtesy of Aerith. 

Zack brought his couch and coffee table, and Cloud brought his loveseat and recliner for the living room. They mashed all their utensils and kitchenware, with Zack being the chef and Cloud being proficient at making cold cut sandwiches and eating things from a prepackaged bag. 

“I like it,” Tifa says, glancing around the room. She takes a seat on one end of the couch. They had taken their shoes off upon entry, and she curls her feet underneath her bottom. It’s a comfortable action, at ease like a cat curling up on a pillow. Cloud wants it to remain a permanent fixture, and he tries not to stare. 

He sits a foot away from her on the couch, unsure of how much space is polite. He doesn’t want to crowd in her space so soon—even though he’d like nothing more than having her curl up against his side, bringing her legs over his lap. He runs a hand over his face, trying to pause every thought containing her touching him. 

He turns on the game station, and he pulls up different movies. He hands her the remote to choose something while he goes to change into a fresher set of clothes, realizing he might smell disgusting from the game and the rest of the day. 

When he comes back in a fresh t-shirt and shorts, Tifa is biting her lip. She glances up to him and says, “I don’t know what to choose.”

“We can watch anything,” he says, coming to sit in the same spot on the couch he earlier vacated. _I won’t be paying attention, anyway,_ he thinks.

“Well…” she trails. “Do you like action?”

He shrugs. “It’s always good.”

“I’m sure you don’t care about romance.”

He doesn’t necessarily care about _watching_ romance. That’s true. 

“I’ll probably fall asleep,” he admits, even though he highly doubts it at the moment. 

“Hmm…” she says, continuing to scroll. “Comedy is usually hit or miss…Horror? No…”

Cloud smiles, leaning back against the couch. He watches as she flicks past movie titles. 

“Thriller? Do you like those?”

“They’re alright.”

“What about dramas?”

“They’re alright, too.”

“ _Cloud,_ ” she says, scowling.

“What?”

“You’re not helping at all.”

He turns his head to watch her concentrating on the screen with the controller in her hand. He holds back an amused grunt. 

“Action is fine. You don’t have to concentrate too much on plot.”

Her lips purse in amusement. She finds the action genre and begins scrolling through it. 

They eventually end up on an espionage heist film that’s close to two hours in length. Cloud doesn’t mind it in the slightest, but he’s more distracted by her presence than anything else. He’s hyperaware of every shift she makes; when she bites the inside of one of her fingers when the protagonist is in an explosion on a helicopter and somehow survives it. When he saves the romantic interest from the most over the top, dire circumstances, she presses further into the couch with a smile. When there’s a montage of the hero’s plights where he develops into the savior, Cloud gets up and gets them refreshments and popcorn from the kitchen. Tifa pauses the movie until he comes back, even though he tells her not to bother. When he hands her a glass of water, he takes the opportunity to sit closer to her. They have to share the popcorn, after all, and he sets the bowl in his lap instead of in the space beside them. She shifts closer so she can reach. 

“Is he going to die?” she whispers when the hero is getting tortured. 

“It won’t be any good if he doesn’t,” Cloud answers, and she shoves at his shoulder. 

“Not true!”

“C’mon, Tifa, there’s going to be a sequel. He has to live because they want more money.”

“You never know…but that’s true.”

Her shoulder bumps his and stays touching him. Her knees are folded facing him, and they occasionally hit his thigh when she shifts. 

As predicted, the movie ends on a cliffhanger, the protagonist leaving the leading lady with a farewell kiss, and falling into another abyss full of explosions. The orchestration swells with a multitude of horns and strings, and it is certainly hard to believe he survives the descent while the woman cries and reaches an empty hand towards his disappearing figure. 

Tifa is still as it ends. One of her hands swipes quickly at her face. 

“Ugh, that was dumb,” she mutters under her breath. “He better live, or I’ll be mad.”

Cloud smiles at her. “Are you _crying?_ ”

“Of course not,” she says, the curtain of her hair covering her face from him. “It was an action movie. Action movies don’t make me cry.”

“Tifa, it’s okay if you did.”

She sighs, shaking her head. “I was _not_ crying. It was one tear.”

“I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

“I’m not!” she rebukes, turning her head and narrowing her eyes at him. He sees the shadow of wetness underneath her eye where she swiped the tear. 

“You didn’t get all of it,” he says, his hand reaching up automatically to wipe the rest of it away. His smile fades when he touches her, realizing how close they are again. He stills as his thumb hits her cheek. Their faces are only a few inches apart, and it’s the pool table on repeat. She’s not moving away. His hand lingers, and he shifts it so that he’s holding the side of her face. It is hard to breathe. The only background noise, now, is the credits to the movie. It is a low orchestral blooming of strings and melancholic piano. It reverberates into his chest, and her lips are parting as they stare at each other. 

“Cloud…” she whispers. One of her hands reaches up to hold his against her cheek. “Remember…remember when you told me you liked me on the soccer field in Nibelheim?”

His stomach presses up against his spine. He does his best not to recoil away from her. He swallows. 

“Yes.”

“Do you…” she inhales. “Do you still?”

It is such an innocent question. It hits him acutely how she doesn’t know—she doesn’t know he’s had her in his bloodstream this entire time, her virus mutating every day of every year. How has she not realized? It’s so potent within him, he feels like he wears it like a label, screaming at everyone. 

He aches with the words in his throat. He can’t lie here. 

“Yes,” he rasps. 

A sharp, sudden breath expels from her. Her hand tightens on his. 

“Cloud.”

Her teeth shine just underneath her lips. Her neck twitches with her heartbeat. She is captivating. She’s a spell. 

He leans forward, because the force beckons him closer. Her mouth wants him to drink from it. He presses his lips against her, and it swallows him whole. 

His hand moves from her face down to her waist. Hers land on his chest, and as soon as his tongue hits the edge of her teeth, he tugs her hips closer, moving her over to his lap. Her legs open and straddle him, her hands coming around his neck like claws. He presses her closer and closer until he feels like he’s melding with the couch sandwiched between her and the leather. 

“I wondered if you did, after you left,” she says against him, words wet with their kisses. “I thought about you.” 

It feels like she’s punching him in the stomach. 

“You did?”

“Of course I did.”

He nearly groans as she resettles her weight on him. This is better than those fantasies he’s been having. Never did he think they’d feel like this. 

He’s almost inspired enough by the feeling to utter his ultimate confession. _I’ve never liked you. I’ve always loved you._

But when she breaks away to look at him, her smile dazzling and her cheeks pink and blushing like strawberries in summertime, his infection continues to overrule him. He’ll never be cured of it at this rate, and what if the words only chase her away? 

Now that he has her, he’ll keep her for as long as he can. 


	5. v.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the lovely comments and support! I'm a broken record, but it means the world to me. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one.

The next day, Cloud picks up Tifa after his morning classes. 

The previous evening, Cloud and Tifa separated when they heard Zack unlocking the door to their shared apartment. Zack looked at them for a moment, and Cloud was _sure_ Zack was going to say something suggestive or embarrassing or both, but he only grinned with that same obliviousness he showed earlier in Seventh Heaven, telling Tifa how good it was to see her again so soon.

He must have been distracted, he thought later. Aerith is probably on his mind, with him being _in love_ and all. Cloud knows full well how stupid the infection can make someone. 

Tifa answers her door four seconds after Cloud knocks. She stands in the threshold, her smile already on her lips, and all the things he was going to say to her bunch up in his throat. 

“Hi,” he croaks, glancing at her loosely fitted shirt and her casual jeans. How can her legs look better gloved over with jeans than when bare with shorts? he wonders. She’s an enigma. 

“Hey,” she says, closing the door behind her. “How was class?”

“Boring,” he answers, surprised when she steps forward onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He immediately blushes, and she smiles up at him. 

It’s good to know yesterday hadn’t been a dream, as he had thought ominously all day. _What if I come to her dorm and it’s back to the way it had been before?_

It had been an unfounded, unnecessary thought that pervaded his mind throughout his classes as he attempted to take notes during lecture. _What if she changes her mind?_

_What if it’s all a mistake?_

The kiss she gives him erases all lingering doubt. 

“You’ve uh, been feeling okay, today?” he asks.

“Yeah. No headaches, no nausea. I guess our _intensive_ activity yesterday wasn’t bad enough, after all,” she says, gently teasing. 

He tries to smile through his blush. “We could continue later, then,” he says. “Uh, I mean…”

Her laughter floods his system. He blinks. _It’s a drug._

“Sure,” she says, bumping him with her shoulder. “I’d say we could stay in my dorm, but Yuffie’s sleeping.”

Cloud shakes his head, imagining spending all day with her in her room, on her bed. “Sleeping? It’s noon.”

“She had early classes. It’s her nap time.”

“Maybe…somewhere else, then.”

Tifa continues smiling before glancing away, nearly bashful. “Um, do you still want to go to the fair, today?”

Cloud nods. In a stroke of genius and a bout of sudden inspiration during the drive back to her dorm, as Tifa was climbing off his motorcycle, Cloud had asked her if she wanted to go to Midgar’s Gold Saucer Town Fair. It happens at the beginning of every fall, the eastern part of town cordoned off with rides, stands, and games sectioned off in several square miles of lights, fried foods, balloons, and celebratory fanfare. 

Tifa’s smile could have rivaled the sun. 

“Of course,” he says, now, motioning for them to begin walking toward the exiting hallway of the dorm. 

“I’ve always wanted to go,” she admits softly as they enter the elevator. “Remember all of the stories we’d hear in Nibelheim?”

Cloud remembers. It had been like a fairytale—bright lights and millions of people and rides that were so high and fast, they would make your nose bleed from the mere height. Food that tasted like ambrosia—whatever _that_ had meant—stuffed moogles as big as three people combined, and fireworks every night for weeks. 

“I went last year,” Cloud says. The elevator doors open to the lobby of the dorm, and they walk out of the entrance together.

“You did?” Tifa asks, voice excited. “Well? What was it like?”

Cloud thinks about it, already knowing what he had thought. It hadn’t reached the expectations they had grown up with, just like most things. It was larger than life when they were young and didn’t know any better. Now that they’re older, the exceptional imagination of their youth will be bulldozed by the disappointment of drab reality. 

Looking at Tifa keeps Cloud from saying any of this to her. Her eyes are alight with enthusiasm, stirring with eagerness. 

“You’ll see,” he says. She makes a frustrated huff, crossing her arms at him. 

“Cloud, that’s not fair!”

He smiles at her, and he has the realization that the experience will be much different this time. With Tifa by his side, it’ll make even the most drab experience feel like a fairytale. 

* * *

The drive doesn’t take long. Cloud will never get used to the way she feels wrapped up around him, her thighs hugging him like the jeans hugging her legs. Her heat hums into him, and the whole ride there, he thinks about the different stands he wants to take her, the different foods, the different, gentle rides that won’t exacerbate the inflammation subsiding around her brain. 

_Like my infection,_ he thinks suddenly. When she heals completely in a few days, will she come to her senses? He grimaces. He’s got to stop thinking this way. He thinks about Rufus, and he thinks about all the other boys they grew up with, and he knows it can’t end like it had before. 

When they arrive, they enter at the southeastern entrance. Cloud pays for their tickets, much to Tifa’s continued disgruntlement. 

“Cloud, I can pay for myself,” she tries, blushing while he hands over the gil for a day’s worth of tickets. 

“I want to,” he shrugs. “I gave you a concussion, remember? It’s the least I can do.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but she takes the tickets when he offers them over. “Thank you.”

He gestures toward a lane, motioning for her to follow. “Come on. There are some different food stands and games this way.”

Tifa takes all the sights in as they pass. Most of the decorations are gaudy with blaring and blinking lights. Because it’s still early afternoon, they aren’t as obnoxious as they could be had they been here in the evening. Carnival music weaves and ebbs through the lanes, the speakers half-heartedly placed in hidden corners or painted with colors that match the stands they’re pushed next to. 

“Let me know if this is too much…stimulation,” Cloud says. 

Tifa shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. I slept in pretty late this morning, and this isn’t so bad. It’s actually kind of…amazing,” she says. Her eyes hook onto the various titles above the stands. _Moogle Toss!_ One is emblazoned with red and orange block letters. _The Titan Hammer!_ Another one reads, blinking bulbs bordering the top. _Shoot for the Stars!_ One says along the corner. Tifa tugs him in its direction, her hands wrapping around his forearm. “Oh, what’s this?” she asks.

The man behind the stands sees them and shouts, “Step right up, step right up! This game is a certain win for a couple like you!” 

Tifa laughs and Cloud realizes she’s still holding his forearm. 

“How do you play?” she asks, her eyes roving over the components. There are several targets lined up, each with a corresponding water gun. Empty tubes are labeled behind the targets with different colored stars at each level. A flickering, neon star beams at the top. 

“Oh, it’s quite simple, young lady!” the man says, gesturing to a few other competitors playing off to the end of the stand. “You aim your water guns at the target, filling the tube up with water. You have one whole minute to fill up the tube, but it isn’t as easy as it looks! Water only fills up if you hit the bullseye.”

Tifa hums, grinning and looking at Cloud. “This should be fun. Let’s play.”

“Sure,” he says, her enthusiasm easily infectious. 

“The purple star at the bottom gets you this,” the man continues, pointing to a small stuffed chocobo. “The blue star in the middle gets you that.” He gestures to a slightly larger, medium sized dragon. “The pink star gets you that—“ he says, fluffing up a giant tonberry. “And the grand prize is _this!”_ he exclaims, lifting both arms toward the ceiling, where a gigantic moogle hangs from a precarious string. 

“I’m sure if you hit it with water a few times, it would fall on us,” Cloud mutters. Tifa laughs again. 

“If neither of us win, we should do that,” she says. 

“Deal.”

They take their places behind the designated water guns. They practice aiming before the staffer blows the whistle. 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever shot a gun before, water or otherwise,” Tifa says.

“You’ll be good at it,” he says. “It’s simple. Aim and shoot.”

“Why do you think I’ll be good at it?”

“You’re good at everything.”

She blushes at that. He’s pleased at her reaction, mostly because the words, as they had before, came out without him thinking about it. 

He should really stop thinking more often. 

“Ready, kids?” the staffer shouts, bringing the whistle up to his lips. Both Tifa and Cloud take their aim. As soon as he blows it, they’re off. Tifa furrows her brows in concentration, and Cloud closes one eye in lazy focus. He watches Tifa’s tube of water rise, and he begins smiling. 

“Thirty seconds, folks!” says the man.

“You’re almost there. Keep it up,” Cloud says. 

“So are you,” she answers, continuing to shoot. She hits the pink star, and when Cloud knows she’s going to fill it all the way up, he deliberately misses the bullseye for the last ten seconds of the game. 

When the whistle blows again, Tifa is beaming as brightly as the star. “Hey, look! I actually won!”

Cloud crosses his arms, watching at the man plucks the moogle from the string. He hands it over to Tifa, who is endearingly over encumbered by the monstrosity of it. 

“Don’t be sad, Cloud,” she says, grinning. “I got it for you.”

She shoves it into his arms, and she begins laughing at his expression. 

“I’m flattered,” he deadpans, the head of the moogle smashing his hair down. 

She glances to the man behind the counter. “Would it be possible if we pick up our prize before we leave? We won’t be able to do anything lugging our moogle around.”

The man shrugs, taking it back but making “no promises.” Cloud rolls his eyes and hands him a five dollar gil. The man grins, taking the gil and folding it into his front pocket, and says the moogle will be kept safe and sound. 

“Sorry you had to do that,” she says once they walk away. Cloud shakes his head. 

“They’re all like that. Don’t be sorry. Besides, you won it fair and square. It belongs somewhere in your dorm room.”

Tifa snorts. “It’s bigger than half our room.”

“Then I could keep it for you, and you could visit it whenever you like.”

Tifa gives him a knowing look. “Are you giving me an open invitation to your apartment, Strife?”

He tries to quell the flutter of his heart in his throat. “Something like that.”

She bites her lip, a smirk tugging at her mouth. She leans into him and runs her hand down his forearm. Her fingers skim across his palm and they interweave into his hand, lacing their fingers together. 

“Where to, next?” she asks. 

He swallows, relishing the warmth that is created between their bodies, where they mesh against their palms. 

It’s already extraordinary. 

* * *

Cloud takes her to the myriad game stands, playing _Break Down the Mountain_ , which consists of tossing bean bags at stacked pyramids of bottles, _Stack the Moogle,_ where they roll up weighted balls up a lane, attempting to stack them together until they were long enough to hit a buzzer, and _Bahamut’s Ring of Fire,_ which is a simple ring toss, decorated with different sized bahamuts on swiveling sticks to distract the player. Half the time, Tifa’s rings end up around a bahamut, and they try to haggle the carnie to give them double points when it happens. 

They run out of tickets before they get any food, so Cloud buys more when Tifa’s in the bathroom. If she notices they suddenly have more tickets, she doesn’t mention it. 

“You still doing okay?” he asks her as they walk toward the food stands and benches. 

“I’m great,” she smiles. “This is so much fun.”

They traverse all the variety of food options. Tifa gasps at one of them. “Fried _tonberry?”_

“It’s actually…not bad.”

Tifa stares at him, her mouth dropping. “You’ve tried it?”

“Zack and I dared each other to eat everything. I came with him last time.”

Tifa laughs, shaking her head. “No. I couldn’t do it.”

“It tastes a little like doom, but it wasn’t awful.”

“You’re not making me want to try it.”

At that, Cloud smiles. She leans into him, threading her arm around his and locking their elbows. After much teasing debate, Tifa tries fried wyvern wings. Cloud orders a multitude of fried anything, attempting to get Tifa to taste the things she isn’t adventurous enough to try herself. 

“I can’t believe you made me try fried _seguin_ ,” she says, shuddering. “And I can’t believe I _liked_ it.”

“You can’t knock it until you try it, you know,” Cloud says. “Case and point.”

The early afternoon becomes late afternoon. The sun evolves into a heavy, golden gumdrop in the sky. 

“You want to ride the ferris wheel or the gondola?” Cloud asks, as they continue to walk lazily between the lanes. They’ve taken to meandering, watching the ebb and flow of the crowd, arms and hands linked together. 

“Yeah, I’d like to. Either one sounds good to me.”

They’re closer to the gondola. It’s too early to see any fireworks, and Cloud’s not sure they’ll stay late enough to watch them. Regardless, they file into the line for it, and Tifa’s eyes are as excited as ever. 

“My mom always told me the gondola was her favorite ride. She said my dad proposed to her on one of them.”

Cloud blanches, then he swallows his irrational blaze of fear. “That’s…nice.”

Tifa chuckles, shaking her head. “It just surprised me when she told me. I never thought my dad could be romantic, that’s all.”

“Anyone can be romantic if they want to be.”

Tifa looks up at him, tilting her head. “I don’t mean to…make you uncomfortable, Cloud. I know you were doing this to take care of me, and because of the concussion, but…is this a date?”

Cloud’s hair on the back of his neck stands on end. He can easily lie. He can easily shrug and be nonchalant, uncaring, and ridiculously expressionless—but he’s been holding her hand for over two hours, now, and there’s nothing he wants more. 

“Yeah,” he says, glancing away from her. “I mean, it can be, if you want it to be.”

She leans up and kisses his cheek for the second time that day. His skin blisters at the contact. 

“I want it to be,” she answers. 

He exhales. “Okay. Good. That’s…good.”

When he glances back down to her, his stomach flops at the smirk on her face. 

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing, just…you’re cute when you’re nervous.”

He scoffs, looking away from her again. 

“I’m not nervous.”

“Mm.”

As they are shuttled onto the next free gondola and take their seats inside, Cloud channels that deep, inner, go-with-the-flow he’s been attempting to use—and realizing that these past few hours, that’s all he’s been doing. It’s easy with her, here, even though he never imagined he’d be able to talk to her like this, her teasing him and smiling at him and laughing at his lame, cringeworthy jokes. He watches as she stares out the window, floating along the line above the carnival. As they are taken higher and higher on the lift, the greater the expanse of Midgar they can see. Cloud spies where Midgar’s border ends and the distant, smaller city of Edge begins, a faint, blunt circle miles away. They can see the twisting roads and gleaming metal that make up the city, the buildings that are tall enough to kiss the sky, and the automobiles that travel along the roads like ants in a colony.

“As busy and crowded as Midgar is, it sure looks pretty from this angle,” Tifa says softly, touching the glass with her fingers. “I wondered if I would like it, here. Granted, I haven’t explored the city much and I’m usually on campus, but it seems to be a nice place.”

“Do you miss Nibelheim?” he asks.

Tifa frowns in thought. “Sometimes. I get homesick for my family. I miss the fresh air and the mountains some days more than others. I miss how simple it was.” She glances over to him, shifting in her seat. She bends her knee, one of her ankles settled under her thigh. “Do you?”

“Not really,” he says, smiling wryly. “I miss my mom. Sometimes, sure, I miss the scenery, but I never cared for it much.” He glances out the window, focusing on a distant skyscraper. “Now that you’re here, I miss it even less.”

She leans her head on the window, observing him until he finally looks at her. There’s a soft smile on her face. This time, he doesn’t blush, and he’s proud of himself. _Baby steps,_ he thinks.

“Are you doing that on purpose?” she asks.

“Doing what?” 

She only continues to smile. 

“You know what you’re doing, Strife.”

“I really don’t know what I’m doing, Lockhart.”

“Oh, whatever. You’re being all…smooth.”

He’s the furthest from _smooth_ in any definition of the word. He raises his eyebrows at her. 

“I’m not.”

She squints her eyes at him and leans forward. 

“I don’t know. I think you are.”

His heart beats, all tangled up in the infection. He feels it pulsate when she looks at him that way, all teasing with her lips puckered and kissable, her eyes red as the blaze of the morning sun as it first begins to peek over the horizon. 

“I guess I’d be smooth if I asked you to be my girlfriend,” he says. 

Tifa’s eyes widen, and her lips open up into a soft part. A dusting of pink glows against her cheeks. 

“What?”

“Uh,” he starts, desperately trying to find the courage that has suddenly flown out one of the windows in the gondola. “My girlfriend.”

She blinks, and her face slowly breaks into a grin. “Your girlfriend? Is that what you’re _proposing_ , Cloud?”

He scoffs, running a hand along the back of his neck. “I guess the story about your dad inspired me.”

She laughs, leaning forward and placing her hand on his chest. She kisses him, and he automatically reaches forward to place his palm against her face. She untucks her legs, and his other hand hovers over her hip, settling there after a moment of hesitation. She pulls his face harder into her, and she easily slips herself onto his lap, just like where she’d been the previous night. She moans sweetly into him when he pushes her closer, and for this brief moment in time, Cloud forgets who he is and where he is. The only thing he’s sure of is that Tifa’s body is pressing against every inch of his, and this is the only drug he’s ever needed. _Her laugh, her kiss, her body,_ he thinks. He’ll happily overdose on all of them. 

“Of course I will,” she says, breathily, in between kisses. He dips his tongue into her mouth, tilting his head, and her hands wrap around his neck, threading into his hair. 

When they slow for a moment, Cloud huffs, “Good. I’m glad. Because I—“

He stops himself, his throat pinching closed to save himself. He kisses her again to relate his thoughts and to stifle his lips. 

_Because I love you._

Can she feel what he means, he wonders, in the way his blood sings underneath her? In the way their kiss levitates him off the seat? 

“I—I’ve always wanted you to be,” he says, eventually, his voice heavy from lack of air. 

“Cloud,” she whispers, kissing him once more, softer and less manic. “Why did it take us so long?”

“I don’t know,” he says, hands tightening around her. “I’m an idiot.”

She laughs lightly. “No, you’re not.”

“I probably shouldn’t argue.”

“No,” she says, and they continue kissing. “You shouldn’t.”

When the gondola ride ends, they are both dizzy, their cheeks red, their lips swollen, and their eyes gleaming as if they’d been able to witness the fireworks. 

As they turn to leave, Tifa reddens even more in embarrassment, hiding her face as she notices what they’ve left behind in their wake. The carnie ushering people in and out watch them go with a raised eyebrow. When Cloud glances to see what she’s so embarrassed about, he laughs, short, abruptly, and flying on a drunken bliss. 

The gondola windows are fogged up, smudged and blemished with one of Tifa’s handprints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess Tifa's concussion is fine. ~~I swear I didn't forget about it, but...I'm sorry about not incorporating it more into the story.~~


	6. vi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks. Thank you to everyone for the lovely comments and support. You've made writing this such a good time and a better experience than it would have been without it, and I love you all for it. 
> 
> Happy reading! Stay safe and take care.

“Yo, Spiky! Get your head outta your ass!”

Cloud attempts to tear his eyes away from Tifa, who is standing with Jessie and Yuffie twenty yards away. He’s supposed to be doing practice drills and warm ups with Tseng, but it is much less appealing and not as interesting as watching Tifa tip up the ball with her toe, tapping the ball with her knee up to her chest, then kicking the ball out to Elena over at the far end of the field. She performs all kinds of tricks with the ball—from backward passing and heel kicks, to the la croqueta (which Cloud calls the zig-zag, to which Tifa only shakes her head and smiles at him). She's been attempting to teach him different kinds of techniques, if only to share with him her love for the sport. Cloud is happy to do it with her, as it tends to include teasing, sweating, and ending with her running into him, falling onto the ground, and making out. 

It's safe to say Cloud has learned a _lot_ about soccer. 

Cloud glances over to Tseng, and he gestures for him to kick him the ball. In a twist of fate, Cloud and Tifa have been placed on the same team for the final game of the semester. When they were numbered off, Cloud was certain it would end up the same way as it had in October, them sitting too close to each other to get the same number. 

Luckily, the stars aligned and the moon eclipsed the sun. 

Him and Tseng hit it back and forth a few times before Cloud kicks it over to Cissnei in midfield. She wrangles it down from the air. “I’ll be back in a second,” Cloud tells Tseng before turning and jogging over to where Tifa and her friends stand in a circle. 

“Hey,” Cloud says, smiling. 

“Hey,” Tifa says back. “You ready to kick some ass?”

 _I’m ready to_ grab _some ass,_ his mind immediately answers. 

“Always,” he says as Tifa kicks the ball to him. “Maybe Yuffie will finally be on a winning team.”

“Ugh, shut up, Strife!” Yuffie whines, placing her hands on her hips. “It’s not my fault every single time someone fucked it all up for us.”

Cloud smirks, tapping the ball to her. They’ve had two other games this semester, and while this was the first time Tifa and Cloud had been placed on the same team, Yuffie had been on Cloud’s twice. 

“I don’t know. You might be the bad luck,” he tells her. 

“Am not! How dare you. Teef, how are you still dating?”

Jessie passes the ball over to Tifa, who laughs lightly at the question. 

“What do you think, Cloud? Maybe it’s because you’re still keeping my giant moogle.”

“Probably,” he jokes. “Your guess is as good as mine. I don’t know why you’d keep wanting to visit a place where Zack lives.”

“It is such a pigsty.”

“We’re heathens. I can’t even cook.”

“You make a mean sandwich.”

“I’m really good at ordering takeout.”

Jessie cackles. “This is why. You two are adorable.”

Cloud blushes a bit at the conclusion, staring at Tifa’s high ponytail and her knee-high socks. _Not adorable,_ he thinks. _More like the most beautiful girl in school._

When Mr. Wallace eventually blows the whistle to end the warm up and begin the game, Tifa comes up to him before he takes his position as defender. Over the course of the class, Mr. Wallace began to give them all free reign to utilize their brains for individual team strategies, once Mr. Wallace believed they weren’t _all_ clueless. Cloud had immediately volunteered for defender, and no one objected—except for Rufus, but he was on the other team and they had merely glared at each other from across the classroom. 

_Rufus,_ Cloud thinks, eying him across the field. He’s taken up the position of defender for the other team, which had been disappointing. Cloud had been looking forward to shoving him back to the ground one more time before the year ended. 

“You gonna be my protector, then?” Tifa says at his side. He looks up to her, and he smiles. 

“You’re not getting another concussion on my watch.”

She touches his arm and kisses him. “Sweet of you, Strife.”

His eyes chase her lips as she moves away. 

“Celebrate after the game?”

Her eyes glimmer as she backs up to the goal line. “You know we will.”

Cloud’s stomach twists as he watches her get into her readying position. Her shorts and her tank top make her look aerodynamic, her lines as sleek as a polished motorcycle. 

When the game starts, everyone’s energy is high and bustling. With the experience of the semester, there are less fumbles and better ball handling. The game moves faster and more efficiently, the passes more precise and accurate. Cloud defends three balls from Biggs, and Tifa blocks two that are aimed from Elena. During one of Cloud's defensive maneuvers, he is able to steal a pass and perform a roulette, which consists of sliding the ball back with his right foot, spinning around and catching it with his left, slipping around Elena as she sprints full force toward her anticipated trajectory of the ball. Cloud, evading her, is able to pass it deeper infield to Cissnei.

"Nice work, Cloud," Tifa calls to him. 

Cloud looks back at her. "Thanks. I had a good teacher."

Tifa shakes her head, but her ponytail makes it impossible for her to hide her blush. 

When the ball has moved back down the field, Cloud brings up his shirt to wipe sweat off his brow. He glances to Tifa and he catches her staring at him. He smiles at her. She abashedly glances away down the field, and Cloud is utterly pleased at the fact that Tifa had been checking him out.

“Are you doing that on purpose?” she calls to him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he answers.

She rolls her eyes, and he grins at her.

By half time, the teams go over strategy. Cloud staunchly argues to remain a defender, to which most acquiesce, and everyone agrees for Tifa to remain goalie. Yuffie and Jessie switch roles from forward to midfielder respectively, and Cissnei switches to a defender and Tseng to a midfielder. The other team swaps roles around accordingly, and Cloud is both pleased and annoyed that Rufus is now a midfielder for the other team, now within 10 yards of Cloud for the rest of the last half.

As it happens, Tifa never went to Rufus’ dorm room to work on their project. They only worked on it during their biology lab or in very public spaces, like the library or Seventh Heaven. Rufus has been pouty and mad about it ever since.

Cloud thinks this is due to Tifa being his girlfriend, now. Their first day back to class after Tifa’s concussion, they had walked into the room together. They hadn’t made any overt actions to bring attention to their change in relationship status, but Yuffie had already known, and Jessie was quick to figure it. Soon, without any word from either Cloud or Tifa, the students who wanted to know did.

Apparently, Rufus was one who _did._

The increased tension and glares between them hardly did anything to faze Cloud since he never held any goodwill toward Rufus to being with. This time, however, it was different. Rufus was the jealous one. He was the outsider looking in.

It took Cloud a few days to register the fact that he’d done what he always thought impossible.

At the end of one class, Cloud had muttered something. He’s not sure what he said—something offhand and stupid, he’s sure—but it made Tifa giggle, and she turned around and kissed his cheek.

Cloud had turned red as a tomato. He stared at Tifa like she’d grown two heads, because neither had been so forward with affection in so public a place, much less a classroom where they were acquainted with nearly the entire class.

His eyes caught onto Rufus’ out of his periphery, and Rufus’ perpetual smirk was turned into a grimace, as if he was disgusted with the whole scenario.

At that moment, Cloud grinned a shit eating grin that was nearly as big as Yuffie’s.

He’d gotten the girl.

An impossible feat, he thinks now, anticipating the movement of the coming ball. Elena is dribbling it from midfield, kicking it toward Rufus. Rufus handles it, jogging closer and closer to Cloud. He changes his stance, readying himself for a takeaway. When they meet, their shins tangle, Cloud grunting when Rufus’ knee hits his thigh when he tries to kick the ball out from between his feet. The scuffle lasts a while before Cloud is able to twist the ball out to the direction of Cissnei, who rushes with it and kicks it far downfield. 

“Losing your edge, Shinra,” Cloud huffs, trying not to wince from the sting of Rufus’ knee. 

“Fuck off, Strife,” Rufus growls back.

Cloud raises a brow. “Ego still bruised from rejection?”

Cloud knows he shouldn’t goad this way, especially bringing up Tifa. But he can’t help himself. His blood is pumping. Sweat is cascading down his back. A few minutes ago, Tifa had been blushing from glimpsing his _stomach._ He’s never felt so…

Triumphant.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Strife,” Rufus says, flicking his hair out of his eyes. His grimaces changes to the signature smirk, his face too pretty for the ugliness that lurks underneath. “I’d never feel insulted by a dumb slut who chose _you_ over _me.”_

The amusement is wiped off Cloud’s face as quick as a flash of lightning. He stalks up to Rufus, pushing his chest up against his own.

“Say that again, I dare you.”

Rufus has the audacity to laugh. “Oh, I’m scared. Big, bad Cloud Strife, all high and mighty because he’s got a dumb slut to take care of, now.”

Cloud shoves him hard, and Rufus stumbles back. 

“Shut your fucking mouth, Shinra,” Cloud hisses, all but breathing fire. “You don’t talk about Tifa that way.”

“Oh yeah? What’ll you do? Fight me?” he laughs, loud and brash. “Right. You don’t have the _balls.”_

Zack’s voice floods through Cloud’s mind. _There’s a force in the universe for this kind of thing._

_Let it happen._

Cloud knows he shouldn’t. He knows how to ignore. He knows how to bite his tongue. He’s done it over and over and over. He’s been polite. Growing up, he’s ignored the jabs of the other high school kids, treating them with cold shoulders, sometimes resorting to name calling, sometimes falling into physical altercations—or as physical as it could get as an early teen—to try to protect himself. He’s tried to listen to his mother. _If you have nothing good to say, don’t say anything at all. It’s a waste of your time._

He listened to Tifa when she wanted to be on her own. When she wanted him to leave her. 

_Cloud, why did it take us so long?_

Not again, he thinks. 

_Be the ball._ Right. He’d show Rufus _balls._

Cloud doesn’t think about it. He steps forward, cocks his fist back, and lets it fly. 

Rufus doesn’t even try to dodge it. In fact, Cloud isn’t sure he ever saw it coming. 

Cloud’s knuckles crack against Rufus’ nose. Rufus stumbles enough that he falls to the ground. A hand comes up to hold it, attempting to staunch the sudden flow of blood. 

“Fucking Shiva. You broke my nose, you little prick.”

He stands up and runs at Cloud, giving a few punches of his own. One clips Cloud’s eyebrow, the others messy and miscalculated swings. Cloud shoves him away again, sending a jab to Rufus’ stomach. Rufus kicks at his shin, and Cloud’s knee nearly buckles. They throw a few more haphazard punches and shoves before a whistle resounds across the field. 

“Spiky! Shinra! Calm the fuck down or I’ll beat the shit outta both your asses!”

“Cloud!” Tifa calls from behind him, and it works better than Mr. Wallace’s whistle. He sneers and gives one more shove to Rufus. Rufus bares his teeth, which are swathed in a layer of rusty blood. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” she asks, coming up to him. She places a hand on his shoulder, looking over his face before glancing over to Rufus. She shakes her head. 

“I’m fine,” Cloud says, one of his hands falling to her hip as he turns toward her. “He’s not. His nose is broken.”

Tifa gasps, her eyes wide as she looks at him. 

Mr. Wallace lumbers over, assessing the damage to both of them before glaring at them, his teeth in a wild snarl. “You two fucking lunatics. Shinra, go to the medical unit and get that nose fixed. Strife, you’re disqualified from the rest of the game. You’ll write a report over sportsmanship and ethics for your final grade, and it better be the best damn thing I ever read, you hear me?”

Cloud internally sighs. He wants to roll his eyes, but he remains blank, answering automatically, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Goddamn kids.” Mr. Wallace blows his whistle again, and Cloud thinks he does it because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Take your places again, everyone. Nothing to see here. We got a game to finish.”

Cloud glances back to Tifa, who is still touching his shoulder. His hand is still on her hip. 

“Cloud, you know better than that. I can’t believe you broke Rufus’ nose!” 

Cloud smirks. “Well, now his perfect face will be ruined forever.”

Tifa lets out an abrupt, surprised laugh. “Is this still because he wanted to take me to his dorm?”

He shifts. “Maybe a little, but he also called you a few things.”

One of her delicate eyebrows raise. “Did he?”

“He’s an asshole. That’s the only reason.”

She reaches up and places her palm over his cheek. She smiles a little. “Upholding my honor, weren’t you?”

The look she gives him nearly makes him begin to blush with how knowing it is. Still running on adrenaline and impulse, Cloud leans forward and kisses her. Her hands come around his neck while she kisses him back—and it’s this, he thinks. Her nails digging into his scalp like chains, her sweetness filling his mouth like a healing nectar—like _ambrosia_ , now that he’s older and knows what that means—and her gentle affection flowing against him, right alongside his diseased heart. 

It’s this. There isn’t any going back. He was never going to go back. He’ll only sink deeper, fully submerge himself, and succumb to the madness of the infection completely instead of hoping and wishing and uselessly praying for it to leave him. He’ll embrace it. He’ll let it become part of him.

He’ll let it happen. 

_Be the ball._

“Yeah. I was upholding your honor because I love you, so you better win.”

She blinks. He smiles and kisses her one more time before letting her go and shuffling himself toward the out of bounds line of the field. She watches him as he takes a seat on the bench, and she dazedly takes her spot in front of the goal. 

They stare at each other. Cloud continues to smile at her. 

When she smiles back, her cheeks flushed from the admission, her eyes glassy from their kiss, it’s all he needs. 

Tifa blocks every shot. She does what he had teasingly told her to do. 

They win.


End file.
